Game over
by Egyptian Dreamer
Summary: When they return to the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore and Harry will have to face not only the Death Eaters but the Dark Lord himself. But with a castle full of innocent students, will Harry submit to Voldemort's wishes in order for them to remain alive?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! **

**This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so please don't be too strict, okay? **

**I hope you enjoy the story! ^-^**

**CHAPTER ONE **

God, his head hurt like hell. Not that his stomach was doing any better. He wouldn't be surprised if he were to throw up any moment now. Gulping the lump that had risen to his throat with quiet an effort, he made a mental note never to apparate again unless _absolutely_ necessary. But that could wait for later. He had other, more important matters to attend to at the moment.

Such as, a barely conscious Headmaster.

The moment they landed on the astronomy tower, Dumbledore had literally collapsed in Harry's arms. The boy was beginning to panic by now. The Professor looked deathly pale, in fact his skin had taken a sickly white color that matched the whiteness of a corpse, not to mention his obvious difficulty to breath.

"Sir, I'm going to bring madam Pomfry, I'm sure she'll know what to do." He certainly didn't want to leave the man on his own at the moment, but he knew for certain that the Headmaster was in need of some _immediate_ medical treatment.

But Harry could only blink when Dumbledore gave him a weak shake of the head. He mumbled something, something incoherent that made Harry frown and lean closer, straining to hear.

Harry clenched his teeth. From all the people in the castle, Dumbledore had to ask for the one person he hated the most, after Voldemort that is.

"Sir, I believe that madam Pomfry is more suited for a situation like this. I don't doubt that Professor Snape is an expert on potions, but not on healing spells."

But yet again, the only thing Dumbledore did was to shake his head. Harry glanced at the man's face, biting his lip at how powerless he was. Here his Headmaster was, barely able stand on his own let alone speak and he couldn't do a single thing to help him.

Eyes glowing with resolve, Harry squeezed Dumbledore's arm, making those hazy eyes land on his face if only for a moment. "I understand, sir."

Briefly, he thought he saw a small, grateful smile tugging at the man's lips but he had no time to ponder over it. Carefully and gently, he helped the Professor into a sitting position on the floor.

"I'll be right back." he said softly, turning around soon after in search of a certain potion's master.

But apparently, someone else had already beaten him to it. At the sound of footsteps on the stair, Harry backed up, pulling out his wand and standing in front of Dumbledore. A shifting sound from behind caught his attention, making him turn his head to the side.

Eyes widening ever so slightly, Harry whirled around immediately, taking a hold of Dumbledore's arm to steady him once he had stood up. "Sir, you shouldn't strain yourself."

Dumbledore let out a chuckle at his worried tone. "Thank you for your concern, my boy. I'm afraid though that I'll have to ask you to hide yourself."

Harry just stared at him, seriously considering the idea of a concussion or something. Honestly, even in his current state the Professor was still worried about the boy's well fare rather than his own. No matter how touched Harry was, there was no way in hell he was going to leave, especially not now.

Probably foreseeing the answer the boy was going to give him, Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, the latter mildly noticing that it wasn't shaking as much as it was before. "Remember what you promised?"

A small smile graced Harry's features. He knew that the Professor was going to use that card on him. "Of course not, sir. Unfortunately though, that promise was fulfilled the moment we returned to Hogwarts."

Whatever answer Dumbledore would have retorted with was cut off when another person joined them. Harry could feel his eyes narrow on their own accord at the sight of the other boy, glaring at both him and the wand in his hand.

"Lost, Malfoy?" Harry said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from his voice. He knew very well that his fellow classmate wasn't here by accident. "The last time I checked, Slytherin was on the lower grounds of the castle."

The heir to the Malfoy bloodline smirked, but Harry wasn't fooled. It was quiet obvious how shaken up the other was, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Harry's lips curled into a smirk of his own, his wand not once leaving its target. "Something the matter, Malfoy? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you look pretty nervous."

To his satisfaction, he watched as Malfoy's wand wavered even more, a frown settling on its owner face.

"Good evening, Draco." Dumbledore said, speaking up for the first time ever since Malfoy came, his voice actually sounding normal much to Harry's surprise. "I have to admit though, you do look a little worked up, my boy."

A low chuckle escaped from Malfoy's lips, but it sounded too bitter and forced to be real. "Have you taken a look at yourself lately? You wouldn't be able to stand on your own if Potter wasn't there to support you!"

A low, venomous hiss passed through Harry's lips that earned him a quizzical look from Dumbledore. But really now, why had he done that? "Watch your tongue, Malfoy." Harry snapped angrily.

Malfoy made a sound in his throat that sounded similar to a snort. "Offended, Potter? Because I insulted your favorite? You really are pathetic, you know that?"

Harry's eyes narrowed further. "You dare call anyone, other that yourself pathetic?" The other boy's eyes seemed to narrow as well and Harry was already prepared for what he knew was coming next. The moment the word _Stupefy _left Malfoy's lips, a familiar blue glow had already surrounded both Harry and Dumbledore, Malfoy's spell deflecting on the shield and rebounding to the point that he had to duck in order to avoid being hit.

"Harry." The addressed person didn't risk taking his eyes away from Malfoy in case he tried anything tricky, but he still made a 'hmm' sound in throat, to signal he was listening. "There's no need for that." Dumbledore went on calmly, but Harry refused to lower his wand.

Another sound caught everyone's attention. More footsteps. Obviously, Dumbledore jumped to the same conclusion since he voiced the very question that Harry himself intended on asking. "How did you bring them inside the castle, Draco?"

Dumbledore seemed just as surprised as he was. But with a start, Harry realized what the Headmaster meant by 'them'. It couldn't be… Death Eaters? No, that was impossible. Another thought crossed his mind that caused his eyes to widen in terror. He had told the remaining members of Dumbledore's Army to supervise the castle's corridors while he was away. Did that mean they had come across with them? With the Death Eaters?

He was so caught up in his thoughts, that only vaguely he took notice of the conversation, if you could even call it that, that was taking place. And then, they came.

When the all too familiar figure stepped forward, Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from sending every curse he had knowledge of at her direction. But just because it wouldn't be wise to move from his position, it didn't mean he couldn't glare at her. And oh, glare he did.

And Bellatrix noticed. Probably exactly why that playful smirk simply refused to leave her face. Even when she walked over to her nephew and placed an approving kiss on his cheek, her eyes were glued to Harry's face all the time.

For a single moment, Harry's eyes flickered over to the other three black clad forms that trailed behind Bellatrix. He knew he should be feeling nervous about having to face four Death Eaters on his own, since Dumbledore was kind of unable to assist him at the moment, but the mere presence of his godfather's murderer was more than capable to replace the blood in his veins with cold, untamed fury.

"Don't do anything rush, Harry." Dumbledore muttered quietly, yet again successfully achieving to see right through him. Willing himself to listen to the elder man, Harry did his best to focus solemnly on taking deep breaths. In and out. In and out until he was calmer. At least as calm as one could be with a bunch of Death Eaters aiming their wands at you.

"Bellatrix." Dumbledore greeted politely, "And I see you've got company. Don't you think that introductions are in order?"

That seemed to catch the woman's attention, her pitch black eyes leaving Harry for the first time and focusing on Dumbledore instead. "Introductions?" she said bewildered, the corners of her lips rising into a sinister smirk. "I don't see why you'll need those in your little trip."

Harry's fingers clutched tighter his wand, preparing to bring up another shield if necessary. Dumbledore on the other hand merely nodded his head in acknowledgment. "It was rude of me to forget the arrangements you so kindly made. Forgive me."

It was dangerous to provoke Bellatrix Lestrange by mocking her, hell it was _suicidal_. And Harry knew that all too well. You should never dare so much as mess with _her_, but that knowledge did little to prevent him from openly smirking. His admiration for the Headmaster grew even more. Oh yes, he knew they were risking too much, but Merlin, the look on her face was _priceless_. The awestruck look resulting from the fact that someone actually dared to mock her. But soon, that look turned into a sneer.

When Bellatrix raised her wand torturously slowly, Harry braced himself from the green light that would follow after those two words that had taken everything away from him, the two words that had destroyed his life ever since he was only one year old. But he never expected the next words that left her mouth.

Bellatrix didn't move for quiet a while, onyx eyes glaring at Dumbledore and promising a slow, oh so painful death. And then, wand still raised but surprisingly still unused, her lips parted. "Trust me Dumbledore, you're incredibly lucky that we've got strict orders not to harm you… for now."

Harry blinked, vaguely feeling the Headmaster tensing at her words, but he had a feeling that it wasn't due to the meaning of those words but rather the hidden meaning behind them.

And whatever that was, he didn't like it one little bit.

The jolt of pain hit him so suddenly, so unexpectedly and so hard, that the startled cry that was ripped from his throat was involuntary. Without meaning to, his holly wand wavered, nearly slipping from his hand before he gained control over his body again and gripped it before it fell.

But his mind was elsewhere. He didn't notice the surprised look in Dumbledore's blue eyes, nor the momentary frown that graced Malfoy's features, not even the gleeful giggles from Bellatrix. No, he could only focus on one thing, well two if you counted the waves of pain that stubbornly refused to lessen.

The happiness was overwhelming. So overwhelming and so contagious that before he realized what he was doing, his lips had parted and he was giggling along with Bellatrix. Finally, that wicked glee seemed to subside ever so slightly only to be replaced by an insanely, searing pain.

And before he knew it, the roles had reversed. Now, he was the one leaning against Dumbledore, the hand with his wand in it clutching the side of his head from seer fear it'd split apart, and the other hand grasping the Headmaster's arm as if his entire life depended on it.

Dumbledore wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, his ever serene expression giving way for one of concern. "Harry?" he said after a moment, his question being followed by a squeeze of his hand. The teen didn't respond though and Dumbledore could tell by his expression that the boy was focused on dealing with the pain. And then, Harry's eyelids fluttered, the boy obviously putting too much effort into an action as simple as opening them.

Hazy emerald orbs glanced around at his surroundings before they finally landed on the Headmaster's worry streaked face, and to his further dismay, Dumbledore noticed the display of horror in them.

"He's here."

**END OF CHAPTER ONE**

**Okay, as you probably noticed the plot is slightly different. Basically, Draco was ordered to simply stall them both until Voldemort arrived. **

**But now that now that he has, what's gonna happen? Chaos of course!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys!**

**I've got another update for you! Thank you so much for all your reviews, they helped me a lot.**

**So, here is a token of my gratitude, a nice, long chapter! Well, at least longer than the previous one. **

**CHAPTER TWO**

For a certain raven haired boy, it was as if time had stopped. Everything seemed to be frozen in time. The Death Eaters, that annoying Malfoy boy, Dumbledore's still form next to him… everything.

All that mattered was the head splitting pain he was experiencing. And suddenly, as if inflicted by the agony, he was painfully aware of the fact that they were going to die.

'_That's right.'_ Harry thought bitterly, _'If Voldemort comes here now, there's nothing we can do.'_

The pain grew so intense and Harry realized with a start what that meant. He braced himself, gathering all the strength he could muster in order to straighten up just as the entire tower was bombarded by an aura so dark and so menacing that nearly took his breath away. But no, he refused to look so weak in front of Voldemort, refused to prove his musings from last year to be true. He was _not_ vulnerable.

Somehow achieving to shove the pain away for the time being, Harry gripped his wand tighter, in return earning a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder from his Headmaster. The gesture made him even more determined. It wasn't only his life that was at stake here. And quiet frankly, he had no doubt which one of the two was more important.

The tower had grown completely silent. It was so devoid of sound that Harry wondered for a moment if the Death Eaters were actually breathing or if the mere arrival of their master had caused their breaths to hitch in their throats.

And then _he_ came.

He was exactly the way Harry remembered him. Black, silk robes covering his form, skin as pale as death and a face that reminded Harry more of a snake rather than a human being. Quiet ironic actually. The heir of Slytherin looked exactly like the animal that represented the Founder.

But those eyes.

The redness of those eyes had been haunting Harry ever since he could remember. Eyes that resembled their owner's lust for blood.

'_My blood.'_ Harry thought momentary, swallowing the lump he didn't remember rising in his throat. _'But now isn't the time to fret.'_ he quickly reprimanded himself.

Voldemort's eyes swept about, the Death Eaters instantly falling down on their knees when their Lord's scorching crimson eyes landed on them and Harry noted with disgust that Malfoy did the same. Just when he thought that the other boy couldn't fall any lower.

And then, those eyes with snake-like slits instead of pupils shifted over to him and Dumbledore. At the pleased smirk that crept over Voldemort's face, Harry's glare was so intense that for a moment he felt that his own eyes had narrowed to the point they had turned into slits.

"Tom." Dumbledore spoke first, breaking that frustrating silence that had taken over. Voldemort's eyes twinkled for a moment, his devilish smirk broadening. "Albus," he greeted in return, voice silkily smooth that made Harry realize just how pleased the Dark Lord was with the outcome of events, "Not looking so good since the last time we met."

Harry's teeth clenched at the sarcasm in the remark, but the only thing Dumbledore did was chuckle. "And it's quiet thanks to you."

In a moment of shock, Harry cast a sideways glance at the Headmaster, not believing the words that had just left his mouth. What was Dumbledore thinking?

But if only he knew the consequences of his action, he'd have never taken his eyes away from Voldemort. When Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise, it was already too late. A startled cry escaped his lips when he was yanked forward by his arm, away from Dumbledore's arms and into the arms of another.

He nearly screamed at the excruciating pain that shot through his entire body, realizing with dread who was holding him exactly. He struggled and thrust against Voldemort, but judging by the joyful chuckle that reached his ears, the Dark Lord was finding his attempts rather amusing.

And then, Voldemort spun him around so quickly that for a second there Harry was certain he was going to throw up. His arms were now seized behind him, his back against Voldemort's chest and his wand no longer in his hand.

"Hello, Harry." the voice, nothing more but a mere whisper against his ear, sent unpleasant shivers up his spine.

"Let go of me." he hissed trough gritted teeth as he struggled to free his arms from that iron grip. This time, Voldemort laughed out loud, a cold and hollow laugh that made Harry shiver unwittingly.

As if brought back by their master's reaction, his followers stood up from their bowing position, each one wearing identical grins on their faces. But Bellatrix's was the maddest one of all, filled with insane joy.

"Tom, let the boy go." Dumbledore said all of a sudden, blue eyes betraying the worry that his voice didn't.

As if encouraged by the man's words, Harry's attempts grew more violent and desperate. Something that didn't sit very well with Voldemort.

Hissing dangerously low, he gripped the boy's wrists so tight, that Harry couldn't help but scream this time, his actions ceasing for a moment from both the pain in his arms and the pain in his scar.

Obviously satisfied by the boy's reaction, Voldemort didn't apply any more pressure but didn't lighten his grip either. Glancing up, blood red eyes met with sky blue ones, a sinister smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "Tell me Albus, I take it you found my magic to your expectations?"

Dumbledore stayed silent for a moment, his gaze shifting from Voldemort to Harry and back forth again. "It was quiet impressive actually. Not that I expected anything less from you, Tom."

Harry managed to take deep gulps of air. Voldemort's anger had flared up so suddenly back then and so strongly, that his scar had nearly exploded. But now it had diminished again. Honestly, Voldemort's mood swings were going to be the end of him. It was then that he heard the exchange between the two most powerful wizards.

And just like that, his attempts to break free returned with full force. "P-Professor… stop." Didn't the Headmaster realize he was risking too much? Just a little more and he would telling Voldemort about the-

"…Horcrux?" Voldemort whispered next to his ear, and Harry could practically feel the smirk that was plastered on the man's face.

Emerald eyes doubled in size, horror dancing all over the teen's features. He knew? Voldemort knew about the Horcrux they had taken? But how? This wasn't possible.

And it was that moment exactly that Severus Snape chose to join in, his body freezing for a moment at the scene before him. His onyx eyes swept over at Dumbledore's barely able to stand form and then at the person in the clutches of the Dark Lord, a mask of indifference soon taking over his features, his usual cold demeanor back in place.

With slow, steady steps, he strode over to the dark wizard and gave a low bow. "My Lord." he greeted respectfully, just as it was required of him.

"Ah, Severus. Glad you decided to join us." Voldemort said, his eyes never once leaving the boy in his arms. It was quiet fascinating how his emotions would sway from confusion, to horror and then confusion again.

Glancing at Harry one last time, Snape stepped backwards, taking his respective place in the circle of Death Eaters behind Voldemort.

"Tom," Dumbledore said out of the blue, effectively attracting the said person's gaze, "Harry has nothing to do with this."

The raven haired teen seemed to snap out of his trance at last and he began pulling at his captor's grip again, this time though out of anger. Why wasn't Dumbledore worried about the Horcrux? Now wasn't the time to be worried about him.

Voldemort sneered, tightening his hold on the boy's definitely already bruised hands once again and emitting another cry of pain from him. "Cease this nonsense at once boy, or I will not hesitate to break your wrists."

But Harry was far from listening. Twisting his head to the side, emerald eyes narrowed upon connecting with blood red ones. "How?" the boy spat angrily, "How the hell did you know?" the last sentence was shouted quiet heatedly. All of their efforts… Dumbledore was poisoned, they had nearly died by that bloody army of corpses and all of it for what? Nothing. It was all for nothing!

Voldemort gave him a feral grin, but yet remained silent, purposely taking his sweet time to answer. Harry's teeth grounded together. "Answer me!" he seethed, his words accompanied by a violent pulling of his hands. The Dark Lord let out a hearty chuckle before finally deciding to have mercy. "Tell me Harry, did you honestly believe that our connection was merely one sided?"

Harry was actually taken aback by this. One sided? What was that supposed to mean? Voldemort must have seen the display of confusion across his face for he went on, "Our bond works both ways. Just as you're able to sense my anger or moments of happiness no matter what the distance between us is, the same goes for me."

Harry blinked. Voldemort could sense his feelings too? He had never thought about that aspect and he had to admit, it didn't sound too appealing either.

"That still doesn't answer my question." Harry countered back, his eyes fixing at the wizard with suspicion, "Somehow, you knew exactly where we had gone and you purposely didn't do anything to prevent us because you knew exactly at what state our little trip would leave us and-" Harry froze in midsentence, realization finally dawning upon him, "You knew that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let me drink that potion, didn't you?" he asked after a moment and to his dismay saw the corners of Voldemort's lips curl into an evil smirk. "That's why you came here yourself. You knew he'd be weakened by the potion's effect."

Voldemort was pleased. How perceptive the boy was! He had managed to see right through his plan with the very first try. "Well done. You see Harry, when things got -how should I put this?- 'heated' in the cave, your emotions went on a rampage literally. Imagine my shock when out of the blue I get bombarded by a bunch of blurry emotions but never the less overwhelming."

"Yeah, I think I get the picture." Harry muttered through gritted teeth, remembering all of his past experiences when Voldemort's feelings went out of control. Well, at least now he understood the phrase 'revenge is sweet'.

Whether Voldemort heard his little remark there, he never commented upon it. "Of course, when later on I reached into our link and caught sight of your little adventure, I couldn't have let this golden chance slip by, could I?"

Harry felt a throaty growl leave his lips. Oh, how he'd love to wipe that arrogant smirk off the man's face.

He was just about to retort back with the appropriate comment when all of a sudden, Voldemort released his hands and grabbed his shoulders instead, whirling him around until he was face to face with the Death Eaters and then promptly pushed him forward.

Before Harry had any chance to react, Bellatrix had already taken hold of his throat from behind, the tip of her wand pressed against the crook of his neck. His arms instantly shot up, clawing at the hand gripping his throat, but Bellatrix in return only dug her nails deeper into his flesh.

"Now," Voldemort began with obvious satisfaction, "be a good little boy and let the grown ups talk about more important matters."

"I'm not a child!" Harry seethed, cheeks flushing ever so slightly in both embarrassment and anger, but the Dark Lord paid him no heed. His attention was now focused on his former professor.

"Have you told the boy about the seventh piece yet, Albus?" Voldemort inquired softly, not wanting the others to overhear. Dumbledore eyes twinkled ominously if only for a moment, but rather than that, the old man kept his silence. "Of course you haven't." the Dark wizard's words were accompanied by a shake of the head, having already expected the kind of answer he'd be receiving.

"However, I reckon you have something that belongs to me, Albus." Voldemort said, this time loud and clear, and with a swift wave of his wand, not one but three items flew over from Dumbledore and landed on the Dark Lord's outstretched palm.

A locket, a ring and a wand.

Voldemort placed the locket inside his robes while he brought the rest of the items close to his face to examine them. A chuckle left his lips after a moment, his eyes locking with Dumbledore's once again. But there was an unreadable twinkle in the red eyes that didn't exist a little while ago.

"How long have you known?" was Dumbledore's single question, that made Harry actually pause in his struggling and listen.

"A while." At Voldemort's words something seemed to stir in Dumbledore's eyes, a sudden tension. "Tom, you surely didn't-"

"No need to worry, Albus. Your old friend is alive and well, at least as well as one can be while being offered Numergard's hospitality. Unfortunately though, I can not say the same for Gregorovitch."

A moment of silence enveloped the tower, nobody daring to move or even make a sound while the two wizards regarded each other.

In the end it was Voldemort that spoke first, "Well then, shall we put an end to this?" The Headmaster's eyes strained over to Harry's confused face for a moment, then glanced briefly at Snape's direction before finally shifting back to his old pupil and giving a curt incline of the head. "Yes, I believe we should." the words were spoken without a single trace of fear, something that made the Dark Lord sneer.

It was only when Voldemort raised the all too familiar bone-white wand, that Harry realized what was going on. The conversation had made pretty much no sense to him, but that action certainly did.

"No! Stop!" the boy screamed as he struggled to free the grip that Bellatrix had on his throat. An irritating growl reached his ears from behind, the female Death Eater tightening her hold to the point that Harry choked on his own breath, a coughing fit taking over him. He vaguely felt some kind of liquid substance trickle down his neck but he paid it no mind.

"Bella!" came the hissed warning and Harry was able to breathe again. Somewhere behind him, he sensed Bellatrix flinch before her hand was gone completely. Still coughing, he lifted one arm and placed the palm of his hand to the side of his neck, not surprised to see blood all over it once he removed it.

Realizing that Voldemort had probably just saved his life, he raised his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of the Dark Lord's red ones before the latter turned to face Dumbledore.

"No, don't do this!" he yelled and made to move forwards but his arm was suddenly snatched from behind, preventing from taking a single step. He sent a death glare above his shoulder at Bellatrix's direction when his eyes suddenly caught side of his potion's professor. How long had Snape been standing there?

"Sir, do something! You've got to stop him, he's going to-!" But Snape's expression never changed, making him stop abruptly. In fact, the potion's master didn't even look at him. He just kept staring ahead with his usual apathetic expression in place.

'_Why aren't you helping him?'_Harry thought, eyebrows creasing into a frown. And no matter how much he pulled, Bellatrix's iron grin wouldn't badge in the slightest. His eyes widened in horror as he watched Voldemort open his mouth to utter the curse that would deliver the finishing blow.

"Kill me!" he screamed desperately, letting out a sigh of relief when Voldemort actually paused. The Dark Lord turned towards him, an eyebrow rising slowly.

"Kill me," Harry said after taking a deep breath, "but not him."

Voldemort's face scrunched up into a grimace before it was wiped away, replaced by a sinister grin. "Such remarkably brave words. Sounds exactly like the foolish thing a Gryffindor would say." A couple of snickers and chuckles rose from the crowd of Death Eaters all around the tower.

But then, the Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed, pinning Harry in place with their piercing gaze. "It shows all the more how ignorant you are. If you honestly believe that only lion blood courses through your veins, then you really are a fool, boy!"

Before Harry had time to make any sense out of those words, Voldemort had already whirled around, wand aiming straight at Dumbledore's chest.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry's whole body froze, green eyes watching the equal green light travel across the room. And then his eyes connected with Dumbledore's. A calm, serene smile graced his features, his bright blue eyes glowing with their usual twinkle.

… And then, they glowed no more.

**END OF CHAPTER TWO**

**I sure hope you enjoyed it! Chapter three will be shortly up.**

**And yes, Voldemort already knows about the Deathly Hallows. Wonder what's gonna happen next? **

**Actually, I was wondering if any you can help me. Do you know what's Tom's eye color? Tom as in Tom Riddle. I believe that in the movie his eyes are dark brown or something like that, but I'm not sure.**

**I've read fics where his eyes are brown, or blue or emerald like Harry's.**

**If any of you has read the second book, it'd really help if you told me.**

**You can either private message me or tell me in your reviews. **

**And thanks for all those wonderful reviews you let me! If you spot any mistakes, either grammar or spelling ones or even about the plot, like character names, then please, do continue to point them out for me. It helps me improve my writing. ^-^ **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's another chapter for you, guys!**

**I don't know why, but for some reason I have this urge to write more about **_**this**_** particular story, something that isn't very pleasant for my other readers.**

**Well, never mind. Enjoy! ^^**

**CHAPTER THREE **

He couldn't move. And for a moment there he couldn't even breathe. The only thing he _could_ do was… watch.

Watch as that lethal green light connected with Dumbledore's chest, right above his heart. The force was such that it sent his battered body flying backwards, further and further away until it fell, fell from the astronomy tower until it vanished completely from his line of vision.

Only then did the awful realization of what had just taken place sink in.

"NOOO!" Harry screamed with a strength he didn't know he possessed. And just like that, the world seemed to shatter all around him. Like it was made solely out of glass and it broke into a million pieces by his anguished scream.

He pulled and scratched and clawed at Bellatrix, no longer caring about what she might do to him.

_Dumbledore was dead._

His mind refused to register anything other than that. He didn't even take notice of the wounds inflicted upon him as Bellatrix fought right back, her razor like nails doing damage that would proudly rival that of a dagger. Even in his frenzy though, he did register one thing. For some peculiar, unknown to him reason, Bellatrix refused to use her wand.

But that only made things a hell lot easier for him.

Landing a swift blow to her stomach, he savored the sharp intake of breath, the woman's grip instantly loosening. With a quick move, he shook off her hand and without wasting any time, bolted for the stairs. Several Death Eaters made to launch at him, still without the aid of their wands, but with adrenaline rushing through his veins like scorching fire and his seeker reflexes kicking in, he successfully managed to avoid all of them, dancing wildly around them and pulling into a halt when necessary before running at full speed again.

That's why he was genuinely startled when a stunning spell landed just a few feet before him, so close that the top of his hair was ruffled as it swept past him. He didn't have to turn around to know who had fired it. When that malice filled voice yelled the command to go after him, he was already descending down the staircase.

And from there he just ran, ran until his lungs burnt but even then he still didn't stop.

But a few seconds later, his feet stilled on their own accord at the scene unfolding before him. The hall had turned into a battle field. Spells were flying everywhere, illuminating the whole area with their cursed light.

When he caught sight of the people clad in black robes, he was struck with the sickening realization that the Death Eaters up in the astronomy tower weren't the only ones that had invaded into the castle.

Voldemort must have brought nearly his entire army of dark wizards, or at least his most trusted ones judging by the significance of their mission.

A quick scan told him that except for Hermione and Ron the only other people that had been willing to heed tonight's call were Neville, Ginny and Luna. Five against seven or maybe eight was rather dirty, but then again the Death Eaters never played fair. An explosion snapped him out of his musings, a part of the wall blowing up where the spell struck and exactly where Ron was standing not seconds ago.

Mentally thanking the heavens above for thinking to give his friends the Felix Felicis, Harry entered the fray, frantically searching for the one thing he needed right now.

His eyes lit up when he spotted the item he was seeking for. There, on the floor lay a wand, probably from a still stunned wizard. Hoping it didn't belong to any of his friends, he picked it up and shot a disarming spell to a Death Eater that was about to fire one of his own curses at Hermione.

"Harry!" the girl shouted with surprise, but the raven haired teen was able to distinguish the relief with no effort.

"Stupefy!" Hermione shouted, sending the Death Eater flying backwards and into a wall, before he fell to floor unconscious. Not a second later, Harry found himself crashed by his friend's embrace, the girl going on about how worried she had been and filling him in with everything that had happened during his absence.

"Hermione!" he cut off her anxious ranting, breaking the embrace and looking straight into her eyes so that she could see the seriousness in his own. "We need to leave. _Now_."

She didn't question his words nor his reason behind them. She simple gave him a determined nod before scurrying off in search of the others. Harry had never felt more proud. The way she trusted him with no doubt and the way she understood the meanings behind his words, the way she understood _him, _made his chest swell with pride and happiness.

Catching a glimpse of two red heads fighting not too far away, Harry quickly made his way over to them. He felt a growl rising from his throat though, when he saw another Death Eater sneaking up behind the two unsuspected teens.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, the red gleam that shot from the tip of the wand connecting with the man's back and sending him face first with the ground. He was out cold.

Ron spun around at the sound, his eyes quickly spotting Harry and his still raised wand. No words needed to be exchanged. Ron instantly crouched down, raising his wand and stunning the wizard that was fighting with Ginny just as Harry's stunning spell flew above his head and collided with the Death Eater he had been fighting a second ago.

Ginny turned to look at her brother with a start, not expecting the interference, when her eyes caught sight of Harry. An exclamation of his name and then her arms were wrapped around him. The boy inhaled deeply, allowing her scent to calm his nerves.

"Decided to join the party, mate?" Ron teased the moment they broke apart, a huge grin breaking onto his face.

His words though instead of lightening the mood, only brought the other boy back to reality. And it was a reality he didn't want to face.

"We have to go now. Things will only get nastier if we stay." When Ron gave him the same reply with Hermione, his chest couldn't help but fill with those feelings again.

"Harry!" At the sound of his name, he whirled around quickly just as Hermione came to a halt before him, followed closely by Neville and Luna. A chorus of multiply groans alerted him to the fact that the stunned Death Eaters were slowly coming about and they really shouldn't stick around to see them wakening.

"Let's go." he said, earning simultaneous nods from all of them.

"Not so fast." Harry's eyes went wide. He spun around, wand at hand. Even though he knew the sight that would meet him, he couldn't help but recoil slightly once he caught Voldemort's eyes.

He heard the gasps that rose all around him, and he knew without looking that his friends must have gone pale by now. Thankfully, they seemed to snap out of their shock and mimicked Harry's action, raising their wands too.

"Surely you weren't planning on leaving without bidding us goodbye?" The Death Eaters that stood behind Voldemort chuckled to voice their agreement, making the boy's eyes narrow.

"H-Harry…" Ron stuttered from somewhere next to him, effectively catching his attention. Risking a glance from the corner of his eye, Harry had to bit his tongue to prevent himself from letting out the gasp that had risen to his throat. Every single wizard they had stunned was now awake, all of them pointing their wands at them.

While he along with Hermione and Ron by his sides were aiming at Voldemort and the Death Eaters that had followed down from the astronomy tower, Neville, Ginny and Luna were standing with their backs at them, wands pointing at the Death Eaters in the behind.

They were trapped.

Harry was abruptly hit by a feeling of déjà vu as the scene in the Department of Mysteries replayed itself in his mind. Felix Felicis or not, their luck had just run out. After all, Voldemort himself was the ultimate jinx.

"Don't be a fool, boy." Voldemort spoke up, causing Harry's emerald eyes to snap up sharply. "If you fight now, we both know which one of us will be standing victorious by the end. And even if you don't value your own life, I'm quiet certain that the same rule doesn't apply for your _friends'_ lives."

Harry's eyebrows creased into a scowl, his eyes flickering briefly to the side where his two best friends were standing, determined and ready to follow him to the very end. He wouldn't allow them to get hurt because of him. Last year, he was a fool. He had let his emotions take the better of him, and his friends ended up paying the price. But this time… this time he wouldn't let any harm to befall them, not again.

Gulping the lump in his throat, Harry allowed his eyes to travel upwards again, and the moment emerald connected with crimson, Harry had no doubt that the Dark Lord could see the desperation swirling in them.

"_Will you ssspare them then?" _He didn't know why he did it, but he changed his speech to parseltongue. Pointing out his resemblances with Voldemort was the last thing he'd do, but right now, he knew it was necessary. If his friends heard him, they'd surely begin protesting about how their lives weren't as important as his. But he had had enough of that.

Voldemort's followers took a few steps back, probably realizing that the rumor of the famous Harry Potter, defender of the light, being able to speak the language of the snakes, something that only dark wizards had been able to do thus far, was indeed true.

Beside him, he heard Hermione's perplexed inquire but he purposely ignored it. For the time being, only the Dark Lord was honored with his full attention.

Voldemort's lips curled upwards, thoroughly pleased that Harry had used parseltongue. _"That dependsss… What ssshal I gain in return?"_

Harry gritted his teeth, unable to stop the sarcasm from his own voice when he spoke next, _"That dependsss… What do you wisssh for in return?" _

Voldemort's blood red orbs twinkled sinisterly at this point. _"I require only what you've been giving Dumbledore all thossse yearsss." _There was a momentary pause that only made Harry's heart beat faster by each passing second, before Voldemort finally went on, _"Your unwavering loyalty."_

The shock that accompanied Voldemort's words had such impact, that Harry didn't realize when he had switched back to English. "You're joking." he couldn't help but say, clearly bewildered.

Voldemort tsked, shaking his head slightly amusedly. "I thought you knew me well enough to know that I never joke, Harry. But non the less… After some specific information has come to the light, it appears you'll prove yourself more useful while still alive."

Harry felt one of his friends shift uncomfortably next to him, but he couldn't be sure whether it was Ron or Hermione. But quiet honestly, right now he had more important subjects that troubled his mind. The anger that swept through him all of a sudden both exasperated him and enraged him further.

"All those years…" he muttered through clenched teeth, unconsciously taking a step forward. "You've been trying to kill me ever since I was an infant, you killed my own parents just because they were obstacles in the completion of your brilliant plan to stop the prophecy from coming true and now you're telling me that you want my loyalty?"

He could swear he heard someone gasp behind him but he could care less at the moment. His whole body trembled with anger, even his wand hand had started shaking despite his efforts to keep it steady. "If you're telling me that after everything you've done to me you want me to follow you like another mindless puppy, then you're more insane than you look." he spat at him, far too caught up in his rage to care about the consequences for speaking in such a way to the darkest wizard of all times. "I will never join _you_!"

"How dare you?" Bellatrix asked, her onyx eyes wide with disbelief and shock, "How dare you talk to the Dark Lord in such a disrespectful manner?" she yelled furiously, wand raising to point straight at Harry, making the boy change the direction of his own wand and target her instead of Voldemort.

"Haven't I made it clear that only I am allowed to deal with the boy?" Voldemort all but hissed at Bellatrix. The female Death Eater glanced up at him almost shyly, as if afraid she'd be punished just because she dared to look at him.

"But, my Lord, he-" But Bellatrix never got to finish her sentence. One look at the Dark Lord's narrowed eyes was more than enough to tell her that she had crossed the line. So, with a shaking nod she lowered her wand. "Understood, my Lord." she whispered loud enough for him to hear before taking back her previous place at his right, but not before favoring Harry with one of her most deadliest glares.

With her not posing a threat anymore, Harry pointed his wand right back at Voldemort, who was already staring at him, red eyes blazing with anger. His friends must have noticed too because someone took hold of his arm, tugging at it and gently guiding him backwards until he was standing between Hermione and Ron again.

But that only seemed to anger Voldemort further since for each step Harry took, he moved forward. He was still far enough but at the same time too close for comfort.

"Do you have _any_ idea boy, how easy it'd be for me to dispose of these nuisances you call friends?" he said tauntingly and without meaning to, Harry could feel his eyes widen at his words, his friends instantly tensing beside him.

"Oh, yes…" Voldemort went on, having distinguished that flicker of fear in the boy's eyes, "It would be far too easy. A single wave of my wand and they would drop dead right before your very eyes."

Harry's breath hitched in his throat at the Dark Lord's next words, "Just like your beloved parents..."

"No…" the raven haired teen whispered, but the dark wizard was far from finished.

"Your unfortunate teammate, Cedric…"

"Stop."

"Your dear godfather…"

"Stop it." Harry muttered while shaking his head, his free hand coming up to cup one of his ears in an attempt to block out that haunting voice.

He only vaguely took notice when Hermione gripped his forearm or the comforting words she whispered to him, trying to distract him from listening. But no, his wide emerald eyes were glued to Voldemort's mirth filled red ones.

As if triggered by Voldemort's words, memories began flashing before his eyes. His mother's heart wrenching scream on the night she died, Cedric's body being engulfed in that cursed green light before falling lifeless on the ground, Sirius's soft, apologetic smile before he was pulled into that veil never to come out again, and then…

"Your pathetic, former Headmaster."

… Dumbledore's own gentle smile right before the curse hit him, forever doomed to stay unmoving.

"SHUT UP!" he yelled with all his might, a familiar blue light shooting out of his wand in a vile attempt to rid Voldemort of his only weapon. Too bad it never reached him. With a motion of his hand, Harry's disarming spell dispersed into nothing.

Hermione sucked in a sharp intake of breath, her free hand grasping Harry's forearm while her wand aimed steadily at the Dark Lord, watching for any signs of suspicious movements. She was well aware of what the Dark Lord was playing at. He knew Harry would never go down without complaint, without putting up a fight and he was trying to weaken him before the real battle began. Why though? None of this made any sense to her, and _that_ was actually quiet an impressive achievement.

Something else however caught her attention during Voldemort's speech. All those people he had mentioned… were all victims of the Dark Lord. Cedric's death might wasn't intentional at first, but he still died because he had been caught up in one of Voldemort's glorious plans for power. And the same was for Sirius.

But all of those people had one major similarity… They had all died in front of Harry's eyes.

She'd never forget how shaken up their best friend was after returning from that maze two years ago. Harry was inconsolable. Always going on about how it was really his fault that Cedric died. If she had gotten it right, Harry was the one that had suggested for them to grab the cup at the same time. Normally, she'd have been most proud of her friend. The rule stated that the first one to touch the cup would immediately be announced the winner of the triwizard tournament. So technically, Harry's idea would have made them both winners. And that's exactly where things went downhill. After the events in the graveyard, Harry has been blaming himself for Cedric's death ever since.

Ron and she had been worried sick. After all, it's no little thing to watch a friend die right in front of you and expect to walk out of it unscathed. She could still remember Harry's letters during that summer. All of them so sad, even a little depressing. And _just_ when he had started to get over it, acting more and more like his usual self, fifth year came, bringing along with it the death of his godfather.

She hadn't been there when Sirius died because the members of the Order had insisted they leave as soon as possible, but god when Lupin told them later about Harry's reaction. The way he had screamed… It made her cry. Mourn not only for the person she had come to love as family. She had helped Harry rescue him after all, that evening three years ago.

No, she also mourned for her best friend. A boy that had been suffering ever since he was nothing but a little kid. A boy that had everything taken away from him. Fate had been so cruel to him thus far, always taking and never giving. The world expected so much from him, expected for him to be the hero that would save them all. Oh, come on, they were speaking his name before he even knew how to spell it, for goodness sake!

Sirius and Lupin were his dad's best friends, the only ties he had to his parents, the only family he was left. Hermione knew though, that out of the two of them, Sirius had been the one that understood him better, the one he felt closest to. But now he was gone too, leaving behind a devastated friend to console the son of his first deceased best friend.

What had caused her eyebrows to furrow however, was the fact that Voldemort hadn't stopped to Sirius, as he should have. No, he had mentioned another one, someone that couldn't possibly be…

The girl's brown eyes widened at that point.

With slow, cautious moves, she maneuvered her body so that she was standing right next to Harry, her face inches behind his ear. "Where's Dumbledore?" she whispered as low as she could.

At her question, Harry's head snapped to the side, wide emerald eyes boring into her own brown eyes. But they had such a faraway look in them… They were staring at her and yet they weren't looking at _her_ at all.

"Harry?" She couldn't help but sigh inwardly in relief when her friend blinked, his eyes back to their normal size when he reopened them. And this time, when they refocused on her, they really saw her. Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, regretfully confirming her suspicions.

"He's dead, isn't he?" she said, unable to whisper anymore. Gasps rose all around them, signaling that their friends had caught up to their conversation.

Harry closed his eyes shut. He didn't particularly trust his voice at that very moment so he just settled with nodding. He didn't bother to hide the trembling of his hands any longer, knowing with a certainty that his friends were at a similar state. He didn't even want to look at Voldemort right now, didn't want to see the satisfaction he could feel so clearly in his head in those eyes too.

And just when he finally accepted the sickening truth of their situation, his body froze. He frowned as he strained to hear carefully and soon enough it was there. That sound! At the confused and perplexed look on everyone's faces, even the Death Eaters, he knew they had heard it too.

And just like that, the sound got louder, much louder. It was then that Harry realized exactly what it was they were listening to. Singing. It was definitely singing and a singing he knew quiet well.

So sad that it caused his chest to tighten painfully. A song so mournful that it pierced right through your soul. And yet, despite the sadness in it, Harry found himself thriving in his lost resolve. The way his stomach twisted wasn't due to the painful feelings of the song. No, this time it was with renewed hope. He could feel his pulse quicken, adrenaline rushing right back in his veins, urging him to move, to keep going.

"Now, Harry, go." Ron said from his side, signaling that his friends had gone through the same effects. And Harry didn't need to be told twice.

"Incendio!" he called out, catching a glimpse of the shock in those red eyes before a wall of pure fire erupted between them and the dark wizards. Ron and Hermione had turned around, firing stunning spells along with Neville, Ginny and Luna at the Death Eaters that were blocking their way. The spells successively found their targets, the black clad bodies falling to the ground.

And just like last year in the Ministry, they ran. Ran through the seemingly endless hallways of the maze they called school with a single destination in mind, the school grounds.

Sooner than they wanted though, various curses and spells came flying at their direction, some missing them by an inch and some hitting the walls they passed.

"The cloak, Harry! Put the cloak on!" Hermione shouted from somewhere behind him in order to be heard above all the frenzy.

Harry's mind however acted as if it refused to comprehend her words. The word cloak kept repeating itself in his mind as if seeking answers to an unspoken question. When that mist that had clouded his mind faded enough for him to acknowledge the meaning of the girl's words, he realized she was referring to his Invisibility Cloak. That's right. Dumbledore had asked him to bring it along in case the occasion called for it, but he hadn't used it yet.

Bringing his hand up, he unzipped his jacket long enough to check whether the cloak was still there and to his relief, it was. Folded against his chest. Now that he had found it though he was lost about the reason he had checked its existence in the first place.

"For goodness sake, put it on, Harry!" Hermione shouted again before letting out a small yelp as a blue jot of light nearly scraped her cheek.

When one of them cursed loudly at their pursuers, Harry's brain finally started to show signs of cooperation and he moved his head from side to side to check if any of them had strayed behind. Relief flooded over him when he saw all of his friends' faces staring back at him. With that solved, he turned his attention back to Hermione, noting the trail of blood that was making its way downwards from her eyebrow, probably caused by a shard of glass after a stray spell connected with a window.

The young witch must have read the expression on his face for an exasperated growl left her throat. "Now isn't the time for heroisms, Harry! We'll be fine."

"Just put the damn cloak on!" Ginny yelled as they rounded a corner, ducking her head quickly after at the whooshing sound above her, indicating that a spell had just soared by.

"It's you they want, Harry. We won't be of any use to them." Neville said, but Harry wasn't entirely sure about the last part due to the explosion of the wall they had just passed.

"Damn it, mate! Just do as you're told for once." Ron shouted over the fuss and Harry would have laughed at the irony of his sentence if it wasn't for their predicament. A Gryffindor following orders? Truly hilarious.

But he had to admit that his friends had a point. It was him those psychopaths were after. By sticking with all of them, he was only putting them in more danger. But he didn't want to leave them to fend for themselves either.

Gridding his teeth, Harry pulled out his cloak, covering himself with one swift move. "Go, mate." Ron urged him on as if sensing his hesitation, gripping at the place where he had last seen his friend's shoulder, and after squeezing his arm reassuringly, he pushed him forward with force, signaling for him to get a move on.

Cursing under his breath, Harry increased his pace, running at top speed. He focused on the ache in his legs and the burning that had taken over his lungs in an attempt to keep his mind occupied, vaguely aware that the phoenix had stopped.

He nearly froze on his steps when a scream resonated through the hallway, piercing his ears as if it had come from a space right next to him. Biting his lip so hard that he was sure it'd bruise if not bleed, Harry pushed himself to keep going. _'They won't harm them… __**they**__ aren't their targets. They won't harm them!' _It was a desperate thought and he knew it, but he kept repeating it in his mind in order to persuade himself that if he were to go back now then his friends would surely suffer.

It was only when something cool brushed his face that Harry stopped, opening his eyes and meeting the blackness of the night. When had he closed them exactly? Oh, right. When he heard the scream.

Shaking his head firmly in an attempt to clear his thoughts, Harry scanned his surroundings. Dumbledore. He had to get to Dumbledore. Had to see with his own eyes, to confirm that he really was…

Releasing a breath that he didn't know he was holding, the raven haired teen whirled around sharply, breaking into a wild run to the right, towards the location of the astronomy tower. For a moment, the only sound that assaulted his ears was his own irregular breathing. When he saw Hagrid's hut on the path below, he knew he was close, but even after bracing himself for the sight he knew he'd meet, the impact was still too hard.

There, right at the bottom. For some time now he'd been wondering where the teachers were. Surely, after hearing that entire ruckus going on inside they'd have interfered, taken action. But it became quiet obvious were they had been all this time. And not just the teachers. The entire castle population had gathered, the only thing missing were the ghosts. Every single student was here and along with the teachers they had formed a circle around…

"No…" Not thinking twice, Harry ran, the cloak falling soundlessly from his shoulders as he no longer was holding it.

Upon hearing his footsteps, all heads turned towards him, silently standing aside to make room for him. Harry halted only when he was standing right before him and he knew, knew that it wasn't a dream. The killing curse never missed and never failed. Just because he had been an exception didn't mean that everybody else would be too. He knew that fact from the very start, but every time he just refused to accept it. It was childish and he knew it, but hope always dies last.

Now however, as he allowed himself to sink on his knees, the message was truly beginning to sink in. His hand was trembling as he cupped the headmaster's hand, only to withdraw it in an instant with a wince as if he was burnt. But no, not burnt. Dumbledore's skin was colder than ice itself, so cold that it stung, stung as if it was on fire.

A sound, so soft and gentle that he nearly missed it caught his attention. Looking to the side, only then did he notice the magnificent golden-red bird next to Dumbledore's head. A pang of unmistakable guilt pierced right through him at the sight of those big coal black eyes so full of sadness staring at his face.

His eyes burnt, burnt so much that it hurt. And yet, even as he could feel them water and his vision getting blurry, the tears simply refused to fall.

Turning his face away in shame, this time, he placed his palm on Dumbledore's clothed chest, abhorring the fact that his clothes were still warm while the rest of his body was freezing. A choked sob escaped his lips before he had time to withhold it, his head bending down.

He had lost yet another father figure tonight, but the wizarding world had lost much, much more. They had lost their greatest defender. With Dumbledore gone, the Dark's victory was already ensured.

"Good Lord…" Professor McGonagall's whisper of horror was followed by numerous gasps of dread that rose from all around the circle.

Harry however didn't even need to do as much as lift his head to know what had inflicted such a reaction. No, he could simply _feel_ it… feel _him_.

Everything and everyone had lapsed into silence, not even the shuffling of feet could be heard, which meant that they were already here. Unconsciously, his hand that rested on Dumbledore's chest clenched into a fist, but other than that he refused to move from his position, refused to acknowledge _him._

"Done feeling sentimental, boy?"

Clenching his jaw, Harry allowed himself a deep inhale of air. Withdrawing his hand and letting it fall to his side, he stood up. Why prolong the inevitable anyway?

He turned around and his line of vision was bombarded by a thousand of pictures. First of all, he took notice of Professor McGonagall, standing a few feet away from him with her wand raised and pointing ahead. The same was for the rest of the teachers. It was with pride that he noted the students had followed their professors' example, despite the overwhelming waves of fear that were oozing from them.

When his gaze moved on to the prime threat, he wasn't surprised in the slightest to see the familiar deathly white masks covering the Death Eaters' faces. Not that he expected them to come out in public undetected. And of course, sweet, dear Bellatrix was the only one without a mask, her red lips already pulled into a mad-filled grin.

He could swear that his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the front line of Death Eaters. Hands curled around their throats and wands leaving no room for arguments, the Death Eaters didn't allow his friends to even blink, holding them completely immobilized against their chests.

His was more than aware of the way his eyes had narrowed when they landed on the lone figure of their leader at the very front. He wanted him to see all the malice and pure rage that he was feeling, and he knew for certain that his eyes were doing a fine job of displaying them at the moment.

Voldemort however smirked, revealing a row of pointed teeth. Lifting his wand hand, the Dark Lord beckoned him forward.

Before he had time to react, McGonagall had already moved, standing before him and effectively shielding him from view. He could see Voldemort's eyes narrow at the interference and knowing the wizard's temper, it wouldn't take long for him to blow. And there were already enough casualties as it was.

Placing his hand gently on the woman's shoulder he gave a light squeeze, just like the way Dumbledore had done. Gentle and reassuring.

Not feeling the need for words, Harry squeezed her shoulder one last time before sidestepping her.

"Potter." he heard McGonagall exclaim softly but he didn't turn around. When he was sure that he had the necessary distance between the Dark Lord and himself, he stopped. Voldemort surveyed his form with a quick glance, lips curling into a light sneer at the sight of that wand hanging loosely in his hand.

With a small wave of his hand, the wand went flying towards him and he caught it in midair. Analyzing it for a brief moment, Voldemort held it in his palm and in an instant, the wand was flying again, this time towards his rightful owner, a Death Eater a few feet behind.

"I expect there won't be a repeat of this, am I right?"

"Of course, my Lord." the Death Eater hurried to agree, giving a low bow towards Voldemort.

"Pathetic." the Dark Lord spat disgustedly.

Harry's eyes shifted briefly towards his friends, trying to make out from their expressions whether or not they were hurt. Of course, it didn't go unnoticed by Voldemort.

"Worried much?"

"Let them go." Harry's eyes still hadn't left those of his friends', the knuckles of his hands turning white from the way he was clenching them.

"That depends. Are you feeling cooperative enough this time?"

Emerald eyes turned to the ground, not bearing to watch his friends any longer and knowing he was the cause of their pain… again.

"…Yes." he muttered softly, trying to block out the weak protests of the prisoners. Because that's exactly what they were to Voldemort. Some useless prisoners that only served by making him give in quicker. And he had no doubt that Voldemort wouldn't hesitate to inflict them as much pain as possible just to get what he wanted.

He could feel Voldemort's wicked glee as if it was his own and he had to try to the best of his abilities to suppress that sickly laughter that threatened to rise in his throat.

Voldemort must have given some kind of signal because the Death Eaters that were holding his friends moved past him and literally tossed the five teens towards their teachers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Ron bolting upright from his spot on the ground and running towards him. He didn't get too far though. With a non-verbal incantation, Voldemort had conjured up an invisible barrier. Harry wouldn't have known it was there if Ron hadn't run right into that wall, a soft blue glow emitting from the collision and sending him flying backwards.

With identical gasps, Ginny and Hermione quickly rushed to his side and helped him back to his feet.

When McGonagall and Flitwick attempted to bring down the barrier that was separating them from Voldemort and promptly failed, Harry didn't know whether to feel relieved or trapped. Loads of weight lifted from his shoulders knowing that they wouldn't get into trouble by doing something stupid such as aggravating the Dark Lord, but on the other hand, it meant that he was utterly defenseless against the dark wizards.

Looking back at Voldemort, crimson against emerald, they just stared at one another for a moment. Then, Voldemort lifted his chin slightly and his gaze turned expectant. Knowing what the other was expecting of him, Harry forced his expression to remain passive as he crossed the remaining distance between them, staring unblinkingly at the face of Death and Damnation.

"Heart of a lion, have you not?" Voldemort spat, using his thumb to tilt the boy's chin upwards and it took Harry every ounce of self control he had to keep himself from screaming outright at the contact.

He brought his hand up in an attempt to shake off Voldemort's grip, to make him let go, but the moment his hand came in contact with the man's arm, his wrist was clasped tightly in an iron-like grip, Voldemort's other hand having grasped his own. He hissed as his already abused wrist was squeezed, the pain in his arm only fueling the pain in his throbbing scar.

But the gasp that was torn from his throat wasn't due to the pain in either areas. No, it was entirely that voice's fault. That bone-chilling voice that seemed to pop out of nowhere and nearly making him jump out of his skin as it evaded his mind without so much as his notice.

"_**S**__**sshow me what you have ssseen."**_

Projecting his confusion seemed to be pretty much irrelevant, even more so when he felt something inside of him stirring at the sound of that voice. Like a slumbering snake, it seemed to uncoil its body, stretching for the first time as if dazedly, before hissing back its contentment as a response.

Harry was seriously starting to panic now. His own mind seemed to betray him, more eager and willing to obey the voice than listening to him.

From then on, it was as if he was stripped of his control completely, only able to watch as events flashed before his eyes, some of them so old that he didn't even recognize them anymore. But then, as those images kept unraveling in his mind, moving on to more familiar events, he finally realized what they were.

Memories. His memories.

But the most unsettling thing was that they weren't just any random memories. No. Every _single_ memory he was in possession of was replaying itself right before his eyes. Starting with that unholy green light, the very first memory imprinting in his one year old self's young mind, followed by the all too familiar scream, and ending with him staring into those ice-cold red eyes of his parents' murderer while straining so as not to scream at the pain that was raking through his body.

The whole process must have lasted only a couple of minutes, but to Harry it was as if an eternity had passed. When that presence began withdrawing from his mind, that certain _something_ gave a disappointed snake-like hiss before going back to sleep and silencing completely.

Harry came about a few seconds later, feeling the cold, chilled from the night ground underneath him and realizing with a start that he was indeed lying on the ground.

He didn't care how he had ended up in that position, but when his vision finally stopped spinning and his hearing was back, all he could focus on was that merciless hammering inside his head. Taking deep gulps of air, he rested his flaming forehead against the hard but oh, so soothingly cold ground. Suppressing the whimper that threatened to leave his lips just in time, Harry clutched his head with both hands, willing the dizziness and pain to go away.

"Stand up, Harry. What would those fools think? Seeing their beloved hero crawling on his hands like this?"

'_Hero?'_ thought Harry dazedly.

He never considered any of his actions to be heroic, just plainly… desperate. It was always desperation that made him rush into things without even thinking about it twice. Desperation and plain old fear for losing the remaining people he held dear.

"Heroism has nothing to do with this…" Harry muttered, head slowly leaving the safety of his hands to meet those scorching crimson eyes, "but I'm not surprised you don't understand. Perhaps… if you had ever felt any love, you might have ended up a tad less insane."

Voldemort's eyes flashed with something akin to anger, but the rest of his facial features remained even, something that made Harry wonder just how easily he could decipher the other's moods.

That bone-white wand was slowly pointed at him, just as red eyes bore into his own green ones. "You will not speak to me as such, boy."

Harry cocked his head to the side ever so lightly, eyes trained on the wizard's face. "Am I hurting your ears, or whatever little bit of soul you've got left? Does it hurt to hear the truth for once, instead of the lies that your servants sputter in order to please you?"

He knew that he was treading into dangerous waters here and he already knew the response he'd receive before it was even uttered yet. That was exactly why he wasn't surprised in the slightest when a second later he found himself writhing on the ground, spasms raking through his body and muscles burning as if they were on fire under the merciless influence of the Cruciatus Curse.

But, surprisingly enough, the curse didn't last long. Probably a warning of what was to come should he overstep his boundaries again.

But no matter, it still hurt like hell! Not to mention it left him outright breathless.

Panting heavily, Harry hoisted himself up on shaky hands, his limbs not quite obeying him yet as an under affect of the curse.

"It seems that someone is in terrible need of some discipline." Voldemort hissed venomously, lips curled into a nasty sneer. "Bellatrix," he spoke without removing his gaze from the boy's form before him, "the Mudblood is yours."

Bellatrix's cruel giggles resonated in his head, but it took Harry a while to make out the meaning of Voldemort's words. Mudblood? What Mudblood? Was Voldemort going to torture one of the Muggleborn students as a means of punishment for his cheek?

Bellatrix had already swept past him when the whirls in his mind came to an abrupt halt, eyes doubling in size at the dreadful realization.

"No…" he croaked weakly as he pushed himself in a standing position, knees buckling under him before he managed to steady them, staggering a little once he was finally up. Looking up ahead, he spotted Bellatrix just as she raised her wand, black ropes shooting out of the tip, and passing right through the invisible wall. It was as if the spell had a mind of its own and recognized the witch as another dark user, therefore allowing _her_ passage.

But that wasn't what caused Harry's breath to hitch in his throat. Rather it was the person which those ropes curled around…

"Hermione…" Harry breathed chokingly, chest clenching at the way the ropes encircled her neck and more or less dragged her forward, towards Bellatrix.

Ron had instantly sprinted forward to grab a hold of her, but their friend had already gotten past the barrier, which sent Ron flying again upon contact with it. The ropes were choking her, it was obvious. With a flicker of her wand, Bellatrix gave a harsh pull that sent the girl to the ground.

Bellatrix spelled the ropes away, but the way those black eyes gleamed was unmistakable and awfully familiar to Harry.

In the blink of an eye, screams echoed throughout Hogwarts' grounds, pain filled screams that made Harry want to scream too.

"NO!" both he and Ron screamed at the same time. The redhead pounded on the wall with his fists in a vain attempt to break through.

"Stop…" Harry whispered brokenly, taking a few staggering steps forward only to have someone seize his forearm from behind. The way his scar peaked at the contact made it quite easy for him to identify the person, but for once, he couldn't have cared less.

"Stay away from her!" Harry shouted, trying to snatch his arm away so that he could punch that bitch, to make her pay for everything she did.

And unexpectedly, just like his scar had, his anger seemed to peak as well. He had this sudden impulse to wrap his hands around the woman's neck and squeeze, hear her choke on her own breath and watch those spiteful black eyes roll back into her head.

Hermione's screams only seemed to intensify as the seconds flew by, only serving to fuel his unreasonable anger further, making him see red dance before his eyes momentary.

Hissing low in his throat, Harry took a single step forward, seeing as his captor seemed pretty intent not to leave him much room to move. But he didn't give a damn about Voldemort at the moment.

"I said STAY AWAY FROM HER!" he yelled, his free arm making a sweeping movement in front of his face to point his emphasis.

He had only managed to catch a glimpse of a pale, blue glow emitting right out of his hand and the next thing he knew, Bellatrix was violently tossed to the side by an invisible force. Hermione's screams ceased the moment the witch had lost her concentration.

Suddenly, a dizziness like no other overcame Harry, his entire body felt like it weighted hundred pounds more.

His knees buckled underneath him, sending him falling to the ground as he was no longer able to support himself. Luckily though, someone grabbed a hold of his shoulders on his way down, effectively preventing him from hitting the hard ground.

"Good boy, Harry. Good boy."

Humming quietly in response at the praise, Harry let his head rest against the person's shoulder, too drained to hold it straight. He vaguely heard someone calling his name, making him look ahead in wonder.

A figure… a figure was struggling to stand up on shaky legs while calling his name. A female. How was it she knew his name? Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"…Hermione." The name rolled off his tongue with familiar ease, making him lift his arm to reach out to her.

"Go to sleep, Harry." a silky-smooth voice whispered next to his ear.

This time he didn't wonder why that voice seemed familiar too. He was too tired. Arm feeling too heavy, he let it fall limply against his side and with a last, drowsy hum, the rest of his body went limp as well as he allowed the darkness to claim him.

A wicked smile graced Voldemort's features as he gazed at the slumbering form in his arms. In a single evening he had defeated his worst enemy, claimed his supposedly downfall as his, and obtained two of the items he was seeking.

Speaking of those items…

Flicking his wrist at the direction he had seen in his memories the boy disposing the last item, he silently summoned for it. Soon enough, the cloak soared through the sky with graceful movements, coming to drape silently on his outstretched arm. Now, he had all three of the items in his disposal.

Snaking one hand under the boy's knees, the other with the cloak on it resting against his back, he scooped him up with little to no effort.

Surveying the group of all those light fools, he didn't bother to hide the way his lips morphed into a smirk. He glanced briefly at Bellatrix's from. He should punish her for her momentary weakness, but not tonight. Right now he was just too pleased with the outcome of this evening's events, not to mention he still had to bring the boy to their headquarters.

"Come, Bella. Our busyness here is finished." He turned on his heels and left, not even bothering to check if she was following, knowing all too well that she would.

His Death Eaters parted, forming a pathway for him and bowing low as he passed them on his way for the Forbidden Forest. With Dumbledore now gone, the anti-apparition wards were as good as nonexistent.

Like a black wave, the Death Eaters followed after their Lord, Disapparating the moment they reached the forest's edge and taking the wizarding world's savior with them.

The countdown had finally begun.

**END OF CHAPTER THREE**

**I know it took me some time to update and I apologize for that. I hope I made it up to you with the length of the chapter.**

**Well, you know the drill! If you liked it, review. ^^**


	4. Chapter 4

**You don't know how glad I am that my story is so likeable! **

**Thank you all for your support!**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

His entire body hurt. Arms, legs, chest, not to mention the throbbing headache that recently seemed to be a permanent occurrence for him.

Harry attempted to move one his arms and was startled to find them unyielding in his command. He tried the other arm only to have the same results. Another thing that bothered him was that thick fog of darkness that clouded his vision.

Mind on the verge of panic, he tried flexing his fingers and was thankful beyond relief when they obeyed.

Okay, so his limbs were still intact… Good.

Now, if only he could figure out why the hell his eyesight didn't seem to be working… His mind was riling, endless possibilities going through it and most of them being dismissed at the same instant.

They could have put him in a room with no windows whatsoever, and thus explaining the darkness, or simply the curtains had been drawn so that he wouldn't be able to take a look outside in case he recognized the area. Or, and that was definitely the most likely case seeing as the people he was dealing with were no softies, he had simply been thrown into a cell.

He toyed for a moment with the thought that Voldemort had buried him alive six feet under the ground, but he quickly dismissed it since he could breath properly and not to mention that his legs were able to move around… unlike his arms.

His movements ceased for a moment, every single sensation on his body focusing entirely on feeling.

His arms were lying useless by his sides but for some reason all he could feel in that area was numbness. The ground he was sitting on was definitely hard and cold, the kind of feeling that you get when sitting on marble or stone floor. His back was leaning against a wall, probably of the same substance as the floor.

His face…

Something was draped across his face.

It wasn't heavy in the slightest, probably the reason he hadn't noticed it in the first place. Quite on the contrary actually. It felt smooth and oh, so soft and the sensation was certainly-

Holy crap, he had been blindfolded!

He could feel his previous panic flaring to life once again, reminding him of its presence and the effects it could have not only on his body but mind as well.

Harry tried to sit up but his arms were so heavy that the only thing he managed was to sit with his back a little straighter. His ears, fully alerted with adrenaline, caught a faint shuffling sound and his body instantly froze.

There it was again. Somewhere to his right.

He turned his head accordingly, wondering briefly if his paranoid mind was playing games with him. The stinging sensation in a certain part of his forehead however, reassured him that he was not going mental.

The sound, that Harry now identified as footsteps or the soft billowing of robes since he couldn't be sure, was gradually getting closer. Strange, but his scar seemed to echo those sounds, a hammering throb being delivered to his head by each step the figure took.

"What the fuck have you done to me?" Shivers raked his body at the sibilant tsk that was his answer. He pressed firmly against the wall, suddenly wishing for it to open up and swallow him whole.

The almost inaudible footsteps let him know that Voldemort was by now standing right in front of him and Harry realized suddenly why the man didn't wear any shoes.

He didn't want to make his presence known.

The way he moved so soundlessly… like a predator stalking his prey. Hiding in the shadows, observing, and picking up any information that would prove useful in his hunt. And then, when he finally grew bored with this game of cat and mouse, he would strike, dangerous and deadly like a snake.

Too bad that Harry had certain means to pick up his presence, whether or not he wanted.

But laying there, wandless, unable to move, and unable to even see his captor, Harry felt more naked and helpless than ever. He certainly made the easiest of prey.

Long, skeletal fingers were suddenly on his face, gripping his chin and tilting his head backwards.

Harry couldn't surpass the whimper that left his lips, both from the effect the contact had on his scar and the fact that who exactly was touching him. He tried to pull his head away, but only accomplished to make those icy cold fingers tighten painfully, clarifying that he wasn't supposed to move.

"Always so eloquent with words, Harry." The fact that he didn't retort with some smart comeback must have pleased Voldemort for the grip got considerably lighter.

Harry gritted his teeth when next those fingers moved to his lips, caressing them with gentle moves and seeming to pay more attention on his lower lip specifically. Oh, how he would love to open his mouth and bite the offending digits, just to hear Voldemort's cry of pain.

But before he could put his brilliant plan into action, Voldemort obviously decided to make it easier for him.

If the blindfold wasn't present to keep his eyes so firmly shut, they would have most definitely grew wide by now. Voldemort had somehow managed to pry his pursed lips open and had plunged two of his fingers in Harry's mouth.

To say that Harry was disgusted would be such an unfair understatement.

Voldemort must have foreseen what his next action would be, for more fingers were now clenching his hair, pulling his head painfully backwards and Harry had the vague impression that those crimson orbs were glaring holes in his face.

"Bite me and I promise you will be forced to swallow your food from now on, seeing as you will not be left any teeth to chew it first." For some unexplainable reason, that statement made Harry rethink through his plans.

"Good, now open up." That single sentence would have left him sputtering if it wasn't for the fucking fingers in his mouth. So instead, he settled with shaking his head.

The hand tangled in his hair gave a harsh pull, making an involuntary hiss rise from his throat.

"I loathe repeating myself. Open your mouth, Harry." The fingers in his mouth began wriggling about, trying to open his mouth by force.

Harry let out something akin to a growl. He wouldn't let a murderer command him around.

'_You can go to hell!'_ Harry yelled in his mind and with no warning, he clamped his mouth down hard and took extra care of digging his teeth into the flesh of Voldemort's fingers as hard as he could.

The dark wizard gasped from the sudden assault, caught completely off guard, and withdrew both his hands.

Harry couldn't help the grin that broke onto his face when the fingers disappeared, leaving behind a thick, coopery taste.

But his victory didn't last for long. Voldemort's hand soon was wrapped around his throat, pushing his head against the wall so hard that for a moment, Harry saw stars dancing behind his closed eyelids.

"And as always, you fail to obey the simplest of orders." Surprisingly, there was no malice in Voldemort's tone as he spoke, noted Harry. On the contrary, he sounded almost pleased.

"Then again, that wild nature of yours is, amongst other things, what makes you so unique." Voldemort's breath suddenly tickled his neck. He could almost feel the man's lips moving against his ear, "Unlike many others that have crossed my path, you refuse to yield, refuse to break. But you know, Harry… I never back down from a challenge."

And then, Voldemort's choking grip on his neck disappeared completely and Harry could breathe again.

"Now open your mouth." Harry could feel the corners of his lips twitch, that damned wizard never gave up.

"You're mental." he croaked, voice coming out a bit raspy, making him cough a couple of times to get it back to normal. A throaty chuckle reached his ears, and he could imagine Voldemort shaking his head at the usual display of stubbornness.

"I wish to administer you a potion, therefore, it is rather essential for you to open that little trap hole you call a mouth." Harry had this sudden urge to laugh. He had never thought the Dark Lord capable of sarcasm.

"Was that actually supposed to make me cooperate?" Voldemort seemed to be in a rather good mood, so he decided to take his chances. If he had dared to bite him before or retaliate, he would already be suffering under the influence of the wizard's Cruciatus. And damn, compared to him, Bellatrix's Crucio seemed like a caress.

"If it was my intention to kill you, I would have already done so. I would never put up with your bratty attitude so that I could kill you later on with something as pathetic as poison." He had a point there, he'd give him that, but embarrassedly enough, poison hadn't even crossed his mind when Voldemort mentioned the potion.

But he must have started to tire the older wizard, for Voldemort gave a heavy sigh.

"It is meant to merely assist you with your… predicament." Now that, was definitely motivation for Harry to start feeling more cooperative. But Voldemort must have thought him stupid.

"You really thought I would fall for that?"

Another sigh. This one more irritated. "You are getting irksome. Harry, you _will _drink this potion, be it by force or your own free will." And here Harry thought that they could have some pleasant conversation. Honestly, the Dark Lord never changed.

The raven haired teen growled deep in his throat. He was still doing it, ordering him around. But as Voldemort so subtly pointed out, he couldn't work his way out of this without a little bit of assistance.

Bloody hell, why did he have to always appear so weak in front of his worse enemy?

In his fourth year, he was trapped against that statue and all he could do was sit back and watch as Voldemort came back to life and he had even provided the means for that no less. Then, the next year, when he did come face to face with Voldemort again, he was so shaken with Sirius's death that he hadn't managed to even raise his wand, not to mention that he all but welcomed the Dark Lord into possessing his body.

And then he had done it again. Voldemort had murdered Professor Dumbledore and he hadn't done anything to prevent it.

He wanted to prove so badly that Voldemort was wrong, that he was neither weak nor vulnerable, but it seemed that all he did was prove him right. He didn't want the damnation of so many innocent lives to view him as nothing more than a useless child.

"Will you take this stupid cloth off?"

"That stupid cloth has its reason for being there. However, there's no need to stress over your damaged pride, nobody else is allowed entrance in here." Harry had to keep himself from snorting.

'_Like you aren't enough?' _Harry thought with a mental sneer. Oups, now the Dark Lord was tapping his wand against his palm, if that sound was anything to go by.

"Fine, give me that potion so that we can get over it." he grounded out, for the first time glad that Voldemort couldn't see the shame in his eyes. Oh yeah, his pride had definitely received a huge blow tonight.

And then, the skeletal fingers were on his hair again. Caressing the spot where they had pulled moments ago as if to soothe it, and then tugging lightly.

Harry was quick to catch up and tipped his head backwards, feeling the rim of a flask probing at his lips only seconds later. He hesitated, seriously questioning his mental state, but when nails dug impatiently into his scalp, he parted his lips just a fraction.

His mouth was instantly filled with a bittersweet sensation that seemed oddly familiar. He licked his lips absently, taking in more of that taste as his brain went on overdrive.

…He had taken that potion before.

An image of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts flashed through his mind's eye, reminding him of the many nights he had spent there, whether it was due to his Seeker's activities or his Chosen One's little adventures. Madam Pomfrey always used to give him a similar potion after treating his injuries, it helped his body relax and put him to…-

…sleep.

He wanted to claw at his throat, but his arms still wouldn't move. He felt a stinging sensation behind his closed eyelids.

What the hell had he been thinking trusting the word of the darkest wizard of all?

His head fell back against the surface of the wall, an all too satisfied hum the sole thing that processed through his fogged mind before a different kind of darkness consumed him.

**END OF CHAPTER FOUR**

**I've read stories where Harry is taken away, but usually most of them begin to lose their earlier touch from the moment he wakes up.**

**I wanted to keep it to the level I started it and I hope ****it was that way.**

**Review for me! ^^**


	5. Chapter 5

**I know that the previous chapter was kinda short, but this one will make up for it!**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The next time Harry awoke, was thanks to the incredible soreness in his entire body. Honestly, it was as if he had slept on the floor!

Eyelids fluttered open slowly, drowsy emerald orbs observing their surroundings and a moment later closing again after finding the dull, grey walls not the little bit interesting.

Seconds ticked by until finally Harry sat up with a start, alarmed and definitely more awake emerald eyes staring wide at the massive ceiling before moving on to the dark grey walls, taking in the hugeness of the, other than him, empty cell. A quick glance behind told Harry that the wall he had thought he was leaning against was in fact a stone pillar just as grey as the walls. The entire place screamed of pessimism and neglectfulness.

He could see again!

Led entirely by instinct, Harry raised a hand to his face, to make sure that he wasn't imagining things and that there really was no blindfold. And that was when he froze.

The fact that his arms could move again, only briefly crossed his mind. But the fact that he could see every single detail of the cell he was in without needing to squint, had Harry's insides freezing over with shock.

His eyesight was normal. No, scratch that. It was beyond normal, it was simply and utterly perfect!

Using the pillar for support, he hoisted himself up; knees trembling from having stayed motionless for- how long had he been out again? When he was certain that his legs wouldn't give out anytime soon, he took a few tentative steps forward, glancing around again for any signs of life he had probably missed.

Nope, not a soul. Well, if you didn't count the spiders and rats that he was sure were keeping him company.

A loud, screeching sound resonated throughout the cell, its vast emptiness making the sound echo all around the walls. Harry's head jerked to the source, eyebrows knitting up into a frown once he spotted the rusty bars.

They were wide open.

Was this some new game of theirs? Opening the only way to freedom just so that they could taunt him, and the moment he stepped close enough to the bars, shut them closed again? Oh, that would certainly give them a good laugh. But he was no toy thing for the Death Eaters to fool around with.

He moved backwards, his back resting against the pillar and crossed his arms over his chest. Then, he waited.

He would show those bastards that he wasn't going to be fooled by their silly, little tricks. How he missed his wand at moments like this. Just the sensation of it in his hand, made him feel confident and probably capable of anything. Not to mention it soothed his nerves like no other pain reliever or Pepper-Up potion had ever accomplished. That wand had been with him through thick and thin, a constant and loyal companion. His hand really itched to hold it again.

But his wand was probably still with Voldemort, beyond the bars and somewhere up those stairs… that no one seemed to be descending? Okay, what the hell was going on?

Pushing himself away from the pillar, Harry approached the bars, which were just standing there innocently and allowing him passage. Harry had always been a curious person, sticking his nose here and there and most of the times ending up punished for it. His endless nights of detention at Hogwarts were proof of that.

So, his curiosity once again flaring to life, Harry gripped the bars, glancing at them one last time, before slowly and as quietly as he could making his way up those stairs.

He didn't know what he had been expecting to see the moment he reached the top; an army of Death Eaters waiting with their wands at the ready, mocking and laughing at him for falling for the bait and all too eager to lead him to their Master so that he could deliver the punishment, or perhaps deliver it themselves.

The answer was that he had been expecting a variety of things to happen at once… but certainly not being greeted by an empty room.

A quick glance at his surroundings told him that he was indeed alone.

It appeared to be some kind of lounge or living room perhaps, that is, if the couches were anything to go by. A fireplace stood tall at the opposite wall, big enough to host two people inside. Two sofas were situated right across from the fireplace, both of them in a dark shade of grey velvet. He didn't know whether it was the lack of much light, but the entire room gave a similar gloomy sensation.

Various paintings decorated the walls, most of them portraying landscapes, but they were all covered with snow or decayed fields with withering grass.

Well, at least there weren't any house elves' heads hanging from the walls, Harry mused with a somewhat bitter smile, his godfather's house coming to mind. And obviously it didn't possess half the dust and dirt Grimmauld Place flourished with.

His eyes widened just as suddenly as the epiphany hit him.

Grimmauld Place! The Order members must have gathered there by now for sure. If only he could use the Floo Network…

Glancing around for good measure, Harry all but ran to the fireplace, though taking caution to be as silent as possible while doing so. He searched around it for some time, looking for the one thing he needed the most right now, patted the marble architecture designs with his hands in case Disillusionment Charms had been cast for precaution, but he still came up empty handed.

…The Floo powder was nowhere to be found.

He even went so far as to kneel on the floor and poke his head inside, eyes searching frantically for some sort of flowerpot, or at least something similar Mrs. Weasley had given him at their house, where he had been introduced to the wonders of magical transportation for the first time. Still nothing.

Gritting his teeth, it took the teen every ounce of self control he had so as not to curse out loud. Yes, that would go completely unnoticed by his captors. But, damn, was he pissed! The only means he had to contact the Order was either by owl or a fire call, and right now he was kind of running low on both.

Owl… was Hedwig even aware of his absence?

He almost slapped himself right there and then. That was definitely not the right time to sulk! He needed to find a way out of this place, wherever that was, and he needed to do it now before those bastards came back, with the full intention of demonstrating what a torture session was lik-

"Look who decided to grace us with his presence."

Harry's body, still crouched in that uncomfortable position on the floor, tensed quite instantaneously. Bloody hell, where they materializing just by merely thinking about them now?

Fists balling tightly of their own accord, Harry stood up just as more people joined in. No masks adorned their faces, not that Harry had been expecting them to hide in their own headquarters, but they were still clad in the standard, black robes. He pursed his lips as more of them filled out of the room on the far end, the double, what looked to be like, heavy mahogany doors closing behind them, not even the tiniest of sounds being produced.

At least, he no longer had to wonder why their entrance had gone unnoticed.

He didn't know who was the one that spoke before, but even if he did, he could seriously care less. Being faced with twenty something Death Eaters, as a quick estimation of heads informed him, could be a tad unnerving. The fact that he was utterly defenseless was of no help either.

A figure stepped forward then, a young man from what Harry could tell, probably at his late twenties or something. He didn't speak for a while, just steeled his muddy brown eyes on the boy's, his lips stretching into a thin line as he made a sweeping motion with his arm, gesturing silently to the direction of the room they had just vacated.

"He's waiting for you."

The words were spoken softly, almost hoarsely, like the man couldn't find it in himself to speak louder. Harry briefly wondered if that man had just been subjected to one of his Lord's infamous tantrums, but dismissed the thought swiftly. His attention centered elsewhere.

For just the briefest of moments, that voice, despite its weak state, had struck a chord in him.

His newly acquired eagle sight trained on the Death Eater's face, studying his features more thoroughly. The dark brown hair and shape of that mouth and nose definitely brought a sense of déjà vu over him, but the paleness and that aged expression, so out of place on the face of a young man, was ruining all the progress that Harry's mind had achieved. That person simply looked like someone that had seen and gone through a lot of suffering in his life.

But then, the man parted his lips ever so slightly, his tongue poking out and quickly trailing a wet path along the line of his lower lip.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"YOU!" he shouted, not even registering the way his voice bounced off the walls. That image just kept repeating in his mind, blending with another, similar one. That of the same man, albeit a tad younger, performing the same action. At that time though, it reminded more of the way a snake would poke out its forked tongue, sniffing the air with it and quickly withdrawing it back in, and less like wetting his lips.

The saner version of the action did little to quench Harry's rising temper, the fact that _The Prophet _had consciously lied about the man's sentenced execution making those little bells in the boy's mind of betrayal and deception go off.

"You should be dead! They said you would be given the Dementor's Kiss!" his voice had risen to a whole new level by now, a little fact that didn't go unnoticed by their audience. The curling of their lips in obvious disdain clarifying as much.

"Is that so?" Barty Crouch Jr. questioned, fingers coming up to stroke his chin in mock thoughtfulness that made Harry's teeth clench together with an audible scraping sound.

It was more than enough for the amusement of the Death Eaters though, judging by the snickers that rose all around them, and causing Harry to bite the inside of his cheek, berating himself for providing them with entertainment.

"The Dark Lord is always generous to his loyals, boy. Rewarding them when they successfully carry out the task he has set upon them." was Crouch's answer, the self-satisfied grin that stretched his lips nearly making Harry snort.

"You will find Mr. Potter," another voice drawled out, summoning the teen's attention to its owner with lightning speed, "that our precious _Prophet _can't always be reliable."

'_No…' _was all that Harry's brain could provide him with, the denial refusing to slip away even as he stared straight into the eyes of all the proof he needed. Lucius Malfoy's silver-grey eyes didn't waver for a second from his face, making it all the more harder to keep eluding from the harshness of the truth. The paper had claimed that Malfoy Senior had been sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban until further notice, yet the convict was standing right before Harry's own eyes.

The teen could feel his throat beginning to constrict, breath becoming ragged. Just on whose side was _The Prophet _anyway?

"Lucius," Barty called out, his tone nearly reprimanding, "We shouldn't test his patience."

The blond aristocrat seemed to ponder his statement, nodding curtly seconds later to voice his agreement. "Come," he addressed Harry, beckoning with his hand, "Our Lord requires your presence."

Harry could swear he felt the muscle above his right eye twitch. Would it really be his fault if he told them where to shove their Lord's wishes? Seriously, the man was way too spoiled for his own good. Couldn't those sniveling fools actually pluck up some courage and just refuse him for once? Well, they do say there's a first time for everything.

"Does he now?" Lucius arched an elegant eyebrow at his lack of movement, clearly expecting Harry to waltz right up to him, probably give a little bow, and then make a bee-line for the Dark Lord.

'_This should be interesting.' _was Harry's single thought as he folded his arms over his chest, raising a brow of his own expectantly.

The Malfoy patriarch seemed to catch up with him at last, a clearly exasperated sigh passing through his lips. "Potter, don't be ludicrous. You honestly believe that you have a choice?"

The raven haired teen could feel the corners of his mouth tilt upwards. Did they really thing he hadn't noticed their reluctance to take out their wands? Admittedly, back in Hogwarts that little fact had had his mind reeling, considering every possible reason for such an act. Luring him into a false state of safeness had been his initial thought, so that they could raise his hopes up before crushing them completely. Now though, it had been made pretty clear that something else was going on. They were, after all, refusing to attack him in their own hideout. What he did find out though, was that he no longer cared for their motives.

He had been given a golden chance, and he would be a real fool if he didn't grasp it. "I think I'll take my chances."

Barty cocked his head to the side, gazing at Lucius through hooded lashes. "Get him?" he asked innocently. The blond slid a hand down his face, eyes closing in an attempt to compose his temper. "By all means." he finally muttered, gesturing towards the boy's general direction.

That was all the Death Eaters needed before the charged at Harry as one, wicked grins twisting their faces.

'_Shit!'_ was the fleeting thought in Harry's brain, not really having considered that they'd be willing to simply use their hands. A wand was the extension of every wizard and witch's arm; it was as simple as that. He had watched as they used them for the most simplest of tasks, such as getting a glass of water, or picking a piece of parchment from the table.

Being forced to fend for himself from a very young age, Harry could only find those antics hilarious. He himself just preferred to use his wand only when necessary, whether it was to cast a spell in class or deflect a foe.

'_They must be pretty desperate.' _Thatwas the only conclusion he could reach. He jumped to the side quickly, narrowly avoiding a Death Eater that launched himself at him.

His brain had officially shut down, only able to come up with swear words as he used his hands to jump over a couch, two Death Eaters crushing head first into the cushions. Little good that did him. He evaded two and four more would come charging at him. He had no real problem with running, both Quidditch practice and his summers with his relatives paying off nicely.

But in a narrow space swarming with Death Eaters there was little to no room for anyone to run.

His bicep was suddenly seized up, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Without thinking, his free arm swung out instinctively, smacking the other person to the side of their head. Swirling around when the grip was released, Harry quickly brought his knee up, connecting it with the man's gut and making him howl in pain.

Not waiting for the next person that would surely replace the wounded one, he whirled on his heels and sped off towards the opposite direction. He did pause though, at the sight of the person that had stepped into his path.

Barty Crouch Jr. was staring at him with an odd glint in his eyes; the same one that he had witnessed in Sirius's when he had first met him. An insane one.

The years in Azkaban must have taken quite a toll on him, not being as kind to him as they had on Sirius. Then again, his godfather _had _been slightly on the loony side back then, what with the way he had been acting. Remus' presence though and Harry's constant letters must have done the trick, because the man appeared sane enough in Harry's fourth year, if you ignored the taunts and pranks that is.

"I must admit that I had forgotten how awfully insistent you can become. But playtime is over, little Gryffindor." the man said, slowly edging closer to Harry, making the boy take a step back for each of his own steps.

"Not everything's a game, Crouch." Harry shot right back, "And besides, the last time we played the outcome wasn't the one you had been expecting."

That actually got a grin out of Barty. "This time we won't be playing with dragons, or creatures of the deep, boy. This time, I have an advantage."

"Really?" Harry asked absentmindedly, his gaze drifting involuntary to the Death Eaters that were drawing closer by each second. They were going in circles, Barty and he. Like two rival animals that were regarding each other, judging the strength of one another before striking at last. But if a fight broke out now, their spectators wouldn't just sit and enjoy the show, they would join in.

"And what would that be?" he went on, trying to focus on both his opponent and the rest. He needed to prolong this, to stall them for a while longer.

"In here, we make the rules." was Barty's simple answer, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. His buddies smirked along, standing in the rear behind their fellow Death Eater.

Harry realized that his lips had suddenly gone dry, and his throat wasn't faring any better. In a moment of panic, he glanced sideways, catching a glimpse of the door they had backed him against, the same door they had exited only moments before. He was trapped.

His eyes however, shifted back to Crouch the moment the man took another step forward. The grins on the Death Eaters' faces couldn't possibly get any broader. Harry's jaw tightened at the sight, eyes narrowing from the sheer thought that he was the cause of their amusement. He hadn't gone through all those encounters with death only in the end to be mocked by a handful of murderers and convicts.

As if sensing the boy's discomfort, Barty abandoned all pretenses and with no warning whatsoever, leapt forward.

Harry gave a start at the unexpected movement and took several steps backwards, a hiss of pain leaving his lips the moment he collided with something hard. Instinctively, he jumped a good few feet to the side even as collective gasps rose from all around him. The massive, double doors had swung inwards with none of them taking notice, and every single Death Eater was now bowing down to the waist.

"This is getting tiresome." Harry grumbled under his breath, palm scrubbing furiously at his scar to soothe away the pain that had flared upon contact with its creator.

"Barty," Voldemort spoke calmly, surveying the man sprawled on the floor before his feet with assessed patience, "Was I not specific when I told you to bring the boy to me?"

"Of course, my Lord." Barty said just as calmly, not missing the slowly raging fire in Voldemort's eyes and yet taking his sweet time to haul himself up. "But the boy can be rather difficult when he wants to."

Voldemort's gaze, seemingly in response, snapped sideways at Harry, not even blinking at the glare that was directed at him. "Yes…" he said softly, more to himself than his audience, "I have no doubt he can." Then, as if remembering the presence of the others, crimson eyes shifted back to studying his minions. The way that most of them began fidgeting under the scrutiny must have been satisfactory enough because Voldemort said at last, "Dismissed."

Probably catching Harry's subtle attempt to flee, the wizard made to grab the boy's arm and pull him along. Not really in the mood for another hammering to his head, Harry leapt out of Voldemort's reach.

"I can walk by myself, thank you!" he said crossly, before walking briskly into the room, just in case that Voldemort saw no reason in sparing him the headache.

Surprisingly though, the man didn't find any objections in this and he barely followed Harry inside, the doors closing shut the moment he left the threshold. Harry had a feeling that they had been locked as well. Not letting that wistful sigh from leaving his mouth, the teen glanced around the room, involuntary blinking at the sight of that long, ornate table that occupied most of the room.

Chairs were situated all around it, leaving no space at all between them. A single, high backed chair was at the head of the table, on which Voldemort was seated at that very moment. His elbows were propped up on the armrests and he was assessing Harry above his intertwined fingers with the most curious expression.

Harry was all too grateful for the distance, but this was just as unhealthy for his nerves.

Another couple of seconds ticked by before Voldemort finally decided to speak, "Why don't you take a seat?" said he, indicating one of the chairs next to him with his gaze, "We have, after all, a lot to talk about."

"I'm all set, thanks for the concern." Harry replied sweetly, not even pretending to hide the bite in his tone.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, the black slits barely even visible. "I insist." And just like that, Harry found the wind knocked out of his lungs just as invisible hands grabbed his wrists and pummeled him forward. Just barely he managed to grab hold of table, his upper body nearly lying flat on its surface and the edge cutting into his abdomen.

Taking deep gulps of air like a starved man, Harry's wide, bright green eyes stared back at him from the polished surface beneath his face, his ragged breath forming little puffs that briefly obscured his own reflection.

Slowly, as if afraid someone would push him right back, the boy braced both hands at either side of his face and lifted himself up. The mirth that swam in his foe's eyes was seriously driving him mad.

"Fuck you." Harry spat, with no little venom.

"Tsk, such foul language." was Voldemort's only comment, followed by a nearly imperceptible tug of his lips. "We will just have to change that as well."

And for some reason, Harry didn't like the sound of that sentence, not in the least.

**END OF CHAPTER FIVE**

**I was actually planning to not leave it here, but I realized that it'd get really long with all the information that I was going to include.**

**And I wanted to show you that I haven't abandoned this story, and I don't plan to either.**

**Thanks to all of you who have supported me with your wonderful reviews!**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"Do you really think you can alter people at whim? Like you did with my sight?" Harry never broke eye contact, even as he sunk into the seat closest to him. The fire that was dancing wildly in the hearth behind Voldemort illuminated his form, giving the man's usually pearl-white skin an eerily grayish glow. Despite the fact that there was no other source of light in the room, those hellish red orbs seemed as luminous as ever, glistening like a cat's would when in absolute darkness.

"Naturally." Voldemort leaned back against his chair, red not once leaving green, "And you, specifically, are not allowed to have any flaws. Your eye sight was one of those, and a quite major one."

"I'm not allowed to have any flaws?" Harry bristled, fingers clenching around the armrests of his chair, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Voldemort was openly smirking now, seemingly mocking him with the fact that he knew something that Harry himself didn't. "Tell me, what do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

So befuddled was Harry by the seemingly random question, that he nearly forgot the reason of his anger. "The what?" he asked, genuinely perplexed.

At this, Voldemort's upper lip was drawn into a sneer, though clearly in a frustration that wasn't directed at the person before him. "Perhaps a different approach should prove more prudent? How does the Peverell family sound to you?" Harry was no fool. He was certain that never before had he heard of the name, and Voldemort must have known too, for the mere fact that he now possessed every little bit of information that Harry had obtained throughout his life. What was the point then, in asking a question that he already had the answer to?

Not missing the hardening of his gaze, the corner of Voldemort's lips tugged upwards, "Yes, I think we just established the significant change the Hogwarts curriculum requires."

Harry glowered at him, his temper flaring up again with little effort, "The school's education is perfectly fine. You can't just dismiss it like that simply because they don't teach students how to split up their souls!"

Strangely enough, a deep rumble echoed from Voldemort's chest, causing Harry to openly scowl, not seeing the reason behind the man's amusement. "The Horcruxes… of course. Best to discuss those at a later time, though. We need, after all, your undivided attention on the subject at hand."

Harry's glare was absolutely vicious. "I may not be a prodigy, but I'm not as dimwitted as you seem to think." he muttered through gritted teeth, nails nearly digging into the cushion like material on the armrests.

"No need to fret, Harry." Voldemort said, red eyes glistening in the dim light, "I assure you, I was by no means questioning your intelligence. I merely pointed out the significance of the subject we're about to delve into."

"Go on, then." said Harry calmly, "Don't let my petty comments hinder you from doing so." He really had no idea what the heck was going on. He knew for certain that the Dark Lord no longer had the intention to kill him, as the man had so conveniently mentioned at Hogwarts, but as for the motivation behind that change Harry was completely clueless.

The nasty sneer that curled Voldemort's lips indicated exactly how appreciated his sarcasm was. "Well, since you have obliged me with your permission…" His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

When Harry didn't provide him with another jibe, Voldemort went on, "The Peverells are widely known from a magical tale called The Story of the Three Brothers. However, for those select few capable of seeing past a children's fairytale, that story is the origin of the Deathly Hallows."

There was a pause then, probably to check whether Harry was with him so far. He must have been quite satisfied with what he saw because he continued, "The Deathly Hallows are three, specifically; the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and last, the Invisibility Cloak. Those-"

"Wait, seriously?" Harry interjected, his tone filled with bewilderment, "I mean…" he hurried to add when he caught sight of the death glare sent his way, "we're actually talking about a children's story?"

"The Deathly Hallows are legendary artifacts, worth more than all the gold of the planet to any wizard or witch intelligent enough to recognize their value, not some fictional nonsense." Voldemort's tone was clipped, but Harry didn't fail to sense the sharpness in it. He had a feeling that his interruption had played a role or two in this.

"These artifacts, with the exception of the Elder Wand, are passed down from father to son. Now, Cadmus Peverell was the first possessor of the Resurrection Stone and once he passed away, the Stone went down to his offspring. Many generations later, it fell into the possession of another man, and I do believe you shall find him quite familiar. His name was Marvolo Gaunt."

"…Gaunt?" Harry echoed, eyes widening in recognition. His mind was reeling, reaching a conclusion that he absolutely refused to believe. "You can't possible mean-"

"Why, yes." Voldemort's eyes were glimmering with so many unreadable emotions, but the way he was watching him could only be deciphered as eager. "When Marvolo died, the Stone passed down to his son, Morfin."

"But you…" Harry swept his tongue across his suddenly dry lips, inhaling deeply as he mentally fit together all the puzzle pieces, "You framed Morfin Gaunt for the murders of your Muggle family."

"Go on," Voldemort urged him, a noticeable upturn at the corner of his lips.

Harry was forced to swallow the lump that had risen to his throat at the abrupt intensity of that gaze, the actual scarlet color of those eyes making it all the more unnerving. "Morfin was taken to Azkaban." Harry was milking his brain for the details that Dumbledore had told him, tying together past and present information. "He didn't die."

"Ah, but you see, Harry, the previous owner doesn't necessarily have to die for the offspring to claim the Hallow. As long as it's a direct descendant of the line, the Hallow will still recognize him." Voldemort fell quiet then, going back to his silent observation of the teen.

Harry's arm rose to absentmindedly rub at his scar as his gaze was involuntary drawn into those eerie eyes. "So, you're the owner of the Resurrection Stone." He paused for a moment, waiting for the other man to either confirm or deny his words. Voldemort, however, remained unresponsive; the ominous smirk that stretched at his lips the only indication that he had actually heard him.

Harry didn't like the sight of that, didn't like it one bit. "I still don't see what that's got to do with me."

"Well then," Voldemort's arms that had been resting on the armrests were now propped up to the elbows, the intertwined fingers coming up an inch or so away from his mouth, "allow me to enlighten you."

Harry scoffed at the intended sarcasm, his body unconsciously reacting to the taunting; fingers tightening around the armrests.

A chuckle surfaced from Voldemort's throat at the obvious tension he could provoke on the boy, a sound that was instantly rewarded with a glare the moment it reached Harry's ears. "The first owner of the Cloak of Invisibility was Ignotus Peverell, the youngest of the three brothers. Once its possessor died, the Cloak followed the Stone's course and passed down from generation to generation. However," Voldemort lowered his hands, allowing Harry full view of the smirk plastered on his face, "the interesting part begins when it reached the possession of Charlus Potter."

Harry felt all air leaving his lungs with a whoosh. The breath he was about to take hitched in his throat, his body growing completely still. He could only blink at the older wizard, his brain unable to grasp the meaning of those words, dismissing them for fake.

"…Potter." His lips formed the word without his notice, the familiarity of his own surname catching him off guard.

Charlus Potter, was what Voldemort had said. There was no questioning the name of his own line, but the first name was still not ringing any bells. He couldn't deny the fact that he had never heard that name before, but still…

"Who was he?" Harry heard himself asking, his own voice sounding miles away. "Who was that man?

Voldemort's scrutiny only seemed to intensify as the seconds ticked by, those hellish orbs not even blinking as the man continued to observe him, as if intent to record every single reaction. "James Potter's father."

Harry's body slumped against his chair, staring up ahead with disbelief written all over his face. He didn't miss the implications behind that statement, doubts making their way into the corners of his mind, unsettling him of what they could possibly mean.

"Ignotus, you said?" said Harry, surprising even himself with the abrupt question. His mind must have developed a mind of its own, because Harry hadn't spared a second thought to his ancestor.

He frowned, all previous musings coming to a halt at the course his thoughts were now taking. He felt a nauseating sensation from the rush of air that suddenly filled his lungs the moment he inhaled. The three brothers: Ignotus, Cadmus and another one. Voldemort had just said that they were the original owners of the Deathly Hallows. But, that couldn't be possible. It would mean-

"We…we're related?" Harry's voice came out as nothing but a mere whisper, and yet, Voldemort had still heard him.

"Very good, Harry." The raven haired teen couldn't say with certainty what sickened him the most; the absolute glee that coated the man's tone when he praised him, or the fact there was now one more connection between them.

"Yes, we do have common ancestors." Voldemort affirmed, his crimson gaze more alight than ever, "I imagine you could say we are distant relatives, removed cousins perhaps."

"You've got to be joking," Harry mumbled, real nausea twisting its way through his gut. He was feeling seriously sick.

"My, my… Are you certain you're alright, Harry? You look awfully pale all of a sudden." Voldemort's infuriating smirk had turned maniacal by now, the glee in his eyes mirroring the sensation.

'_You bastard!' _Harry's mind seemed adamant, screaming obscenities at the Dark Lord into his head while his teeth were producing the most awful screeching noises by the way he was gritting them together. And by the way that Voldemort's grin was imitating that of the Cheshire Cat, Harry had a suspicion that the man could hear both reactions.

"Well, as entertaining as it is watching your attempts to murder me with that glare, I do believe there's still more to discuss." Voldemort's head tilted to the side, chin propped on the fist of his right hand. The expression that marred his features was one of utmost serenity.

If Harry wasn't so busy glaring holes into that serpentine head he'd have definitely blinked at the abrupt change in attitude.

"Harry," Voldemort's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, "control that hurricane you have the audacity to call emotions. It's not even necessary to tap into our link in order to get a taste of them."

Harry bristled, recognizing not only the scolding but the demand as well.

"If you don't get a grip of yourself," the Dark Lord's tone was now dangerously low, "then I shall."

Harry's hold on the, definitely abused by now, armrests only intensified. He would notice a threat anytime, especially when it was thrown right into his face. Posture much too rigid from the strain he was putting into it, the raven haired teen forced his grip to go slack against the chair, willing his muscles to un-stiffen. He couldn't, however, drop his glare no matter how hard he tried.

Voldemort acknowledged that specific failure with an arched brow. He lowered his hand to lie down on the armrest, head perfectly angled to stare straight into Harry's eyes, an action that had said person battling with his inner self so as not to break that gaze.

Ever since he had been informed last year by Snape of the fact that the Dark Lord was adept in the use of not only Occlumency, but Legilimency as well, he had made quite an effort to gaze as little as possible in the man's eyes. A splendid plan, and one that had been blown to smithereens during the past minutes.

To know that Lord Voldemort was a master Legilimens, greater even than Dumbledore himself… was quite nerve wrecking.

"Occlumency won't ever be of use to you when it comes to the connection we share." Harry's eyes snapped into focus, not having realized the moment he spaced out. Voldemort's face was impassive as of now, his far too concentrated stare the only indication he had actually spoken.

"Practice leads to perfection, isn't that what they say?" retorted Harry, succeeding in keeping his voice relatively void of any feeling.

"Oh, I hold no doubt of that. However, you'll find that practice doesn't necessarily improve your skills. Sometimes, it can prove to be utterly meaningless, especially when faced with… predestined events."

Harry tried hard to suppress the urge to snort, he really did, too bad that the noise that vibrated from his throat still held a strong resemblance to it. "Careful, Lord Voldemort. If someone were to hear you, they'd think you didn't despise Dumbledore as much as you claim, what with taking over his habit of talking in riddles."

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so reckless, or he simply should have cut down on the sarcasm a bit. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to feel regret, despite the consequences that were bound to follow.

A bitter, coppery taste flooded his mouth the moment his teeth sunk into the flesh of his tongue, only just managing to swallow back down the cry that would have left his throat. The sting in his self-inflicted wound paled shamefully in comparison to the absolutely excruciating pain that erupted from his scar. Instinctively, both hands flew to grasp his forehead, the heels of his palms pressing into his scar as if by doing so he'd be able to subside the merciless hammering.

Despite his efforts, a choked grunt succeeding in escaping from his pursed lips. Disgruntled with himself, Harry dug his nails into his scalp, not even wincing at the newest addition since his head was overloaded already by the throbbing from his scar.

He opened his mouth, no longer able to suppress a scream, when it was all over.

Harry slumped forward, elbows supported on the table and forehead buried in his palms. Lips parted in a desperate effort to inhale as much air as humanly possible without getting dizzy.

God, his head was killing him!

"It appears that the House of Godric Gryffindor has had more influence on your person than I had previously speculated." His teeth ground together at the sound of that loathsome voice, involuntary shudders racking his whole body in anticipation of the torture curse.

Not that Voldemort needed the Cruciatus in order to inflict pain on him. A single thought was more than enough to have Harry writhing on the floor. Hell, being in the same room as him caused Harry's body to spasm from the invisible needles that prickled his scar.

Why? Why did the Dark Lord have such influence on him, so much control over his body? It infuriated Harry to no end that he didn't have the answers to those questions.

A dark, spiteful chuckle caused his head to jerk out of his hands, green eyes narrowing furiously at the sight of the smug grin on Voldemort's face. Why was it that the Dark wizard seemed to be in tune with their link now more than ever? He could swear that Voldemort had heard every single one of his musings in the past minutes that he had been in his company. But how was that possible? The connection between their minds had never been this strong before.

"Perhaps now is the right time to enlighten you about the most crucial part in the story of the Deathly Hallows." Voldemort once again chuckled at the glare that was sent his way, seemingly amused by Harry's continued lack of obedience. "How riled up you are. And here I thought you desired some answers."

Harry growled low in his throat, his gaze falling to meet his reflection's on the table's polished surface as he rubbed at his still prickling scar. He didn't even bother to respond to the Dark Lord's rhetorical question.

"The reason why many great wizards and witches have sought these items is because, when assembled by the right person, they possess the power to make one the Master of Death." Harry's entire body tensed. The hand that had been soothing his scar slid down his face, an aggravated huff of air passing through his lips.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" His head was throbbing still, a combination of both the information he had received so far and the torment it had been subjected to mere moments ago.

"That, my dear boy," Voldemort said, causing the teen to openly sneer at the purposeful use of the way Dumbledore would address him, "means that their owner can attain immortality."

And yes, his headache was getting worse. Harry leaned against the back of the chair, allowing one of his hands to come up and rub his aching temple. "Immortality, right… Isn't this why you've got the Horcruxes?"

"Perhaps it'd be more prudent if you paid attention to our discussion, Harry. It concerns you greatly, after all." Voldemort's eyes were beginning to darken again, a sign that never bode well with Harry.

"What does _your_ immortality have to do with me?" Harry frowned, his words actually registering in his mind. "Then again, it has everything to do with me; vanquisher and all."

This time, it was Voldemort who rubbed at his temple. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't ramble about things I haven't mentioned yet. It'd be terribly counterproductive for the entire discussion." Harry blinked, twice. No, that definitely wasn't sarcasm he heard. Absolutely, definitely not. Hell hadn't frozen over just yet.

"As I told you before," Voldemort pinned him with a narrowed look, as if aware of his train of thought, "the Deathly Hallows pass down from generation to generation. At least two of them do. I'm already the possessor of the Resurrection Stone, as well as the Elder Wand."

"I thought you mentioned only the Stone." Harry didn't have to fake the perplexity in his voice. And the Dark Lord must have sensed his confusion because he inclined his head.

"The Elder Wand needs to be obtained through other means, succession isn't required." Voldemort paused, for what Harry couldn't be sure.

The silence stretched on, making the raven haired teen wet his lips. Not feeling in the mood to start another staring contest with the man, Harry was the first to break the quiet. "And those are…?" he urged, arching an eyebrow when the other wizard did nothing but gaze at him. Harry felt shivers crawling up his spine when those eyes didn't even blink.

And then, Voldemort reached into the inner pocket of his black robe, Harry's eyes gluing themselves on those long fingers the moment they reappeared, gracefully encircled around three slim, wooden sticks.

Harry's breath hitched at the sight of his wand, not quite believing that he had actually forgotten about it.

"Can I…" Harry faltered when those scarlet eyes pierced him with a stare, swallowing despite himself, "Will you give it to me?"

The corner of Voldemort's lips tugged upwards, shaking his head in a way that would have appeared reprimanding to a third party. Harry however knew better. As if to spite him further, Voldemort lifted the teen's battered wand slowly, inspecting it closely for the briefest of moments before returning it back to his pocket. Harry followed its course with his eyes woefully, fully aware that he wouldn't be seeing it again for some time.

"Now, now. Don't be like that." Voldemort admonished softly, snapping Harry's gaze back to him. "It's not like I'm going to burn it to ashes." Emerald eyes narrowed at the mere suggestion of such action, watching suspiciously as the man lifted another wand.

Strangely enough, it wasn't the bone-white one, but the only other deep brown wand that was lying next to it. Its eerie familiarity surprised Harry, noting the small wooden globes that seemed to be embedded into it and feeling like he was struck with a sense of déjà vu. This definitely wasn't the first time he was seeing it. But where-

"Up until two days ago, this belonged to Dumbledore." The way his eyes doubled in size must have been pretty hilarious because that smirk was back on Voldemort's face. "This, Harry, is the Elder Wand."

"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" It was impossible for him to grasp. Why? Why would Albus Dumbledore have one of the Hallows?

"Precisely. And do you recall how he lost possession of it?"

'_Lost possession?' _Was that supposed to actually make sense? How should he know in what way Dumbledore ceased being the owner of the wand? Harry's eyebrows creased into a scowl. Simply because succession wasn't necessary, it didn't mean that he was able to just foresee the other means. According to the Dark Lord, it could be everything; thievery, gambling, treason and so forth. Anyone would be able to obtain it if there were no requirements, and anything would be allowed. Even…

Harry's lips parted of their own accord, a gasp spilling past his lips. His throat felt as though it was being constricted as he raised his gaze to meet Voldemort's, inwardly flinching at the dark satisfaction that set alight those bloody eyes. There was no doubt about it… the Dark Lord already knew he had figured it out. And for the first time, he felt the real impact of that realization. For some unfathomable, frightening reason, his mind was no longer just his own. His thoughts weren't private anymore.

Ignoring the eerie upturn of those lips that made its appearance the very moment that musing was done forming in his mind, Harry met the man's stare dead on. It was no longer necessary to worry about Legilimency; the man didn't need it in order to infiltrate his mind.

"Succession doesn't matter when it comes to the Elder Wand, you said so yourself. And those other means… they can be anything, right? Because anything is allowed, you chose assassination." This time around, Harry did flinch when the Dark Wizard's face was nearly split by the smirk that took over it. It was such an abnormal sight, that it literally gave Harry the creeps.

"You see, the Elder Wand needs to be taken from its previous owner by force. Its history of blood has been recorded through the centuries. A mere Disarming Spell would suffice, but I believe you can guess as to why I opted for murder." Of course Harry knew, both he and the entire world were aware of the bad history between the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore, the beacon of Light.

It was no surprise that Voldemort chose to kill his biggest rival when he actually had the chance.

"Thus, I'm the owner of two of the Hallows. I admit that the third one was the hardest to obtain, but it doesn't pose a problem any longer. And it's all thanks to you." Harry's face scrunched up, pure confusion etched onto his features.

"I never helped you gain such a thing." His words were accompanied by a firm shake of the head. "I never gave you that stupid Cloak! I didn't even know that these Hallows existed before you told me, let alone the location of one."

The Dark Lord sat up suddenly, hands splayed against the surface of the table, making Harry instinctively lean as far back as possible. "But you do know the Cloak's location. You have had it in your possession ever since you were eleven!"

As if physically struck, the teen's head tossed back, black spots dancing momentarily across his vision from the collision with the chair. Cursing softly under his breath, Harry brought up a hand, slowly rubbing at the soreness, while narrowing his eyes at the man across him, "That cloak isn't a Hallow. As you said yourself, I've had it for more than five years. I'd know if it was anything other than ordinary."

Those luminous eyes were glistening far too ominously. "Plain invisibility cloaks aren't meant to remain as perfect or as functional as yours is years after their creation. Yours is a family heirloom, is it not?"

"That doesn't mean anything." Harry shot back, hands balling into fists in his lap. He hated this, hated how logical Voldemort's reasoning was. He knew perfectly well what the Dark Wizard meant by family heirloom. Charlus Potter had had a Hallow in his possession, the third one. He couldn't possibly know whether or not his grandfather was aware that the Invisibility Cloak he had was a tool towards immortality, but what were the chances for himself to have inherited a different cloak and not the Hallow?

Feeling the pressure of his nails growing hard enough to pierce through skin, Harry's teeth scraped together. He wouldn't kid himself. The chances were slim to none.

"Damn it!" he yelled, slamming both his fists on the table, "That Cloak's the only thing I've got from my father! You can't have it! You don't have the birthright!"

"Certainly, I do not belong in the Potters' bloodline. However, I am able to gain ownership of the Cloak by having ownership over the last person with the blood of Potter in their veins!" Raw, untamed madness was swirling in Voldemort's now widened blood red eyes, the strongest Harry had ever witnessed the man displaying.

"The last Potter…? What rubbish is this? You could never own me!" Harry's chair was thrown to the ground with a resounding thud as he shot up, the noise echoing all over the walls in the deathly silence that had settled. Outraged emerald was clashing with wicked ruby, both wizards absolutely refusing to break the contact first. And then, the Dark Lord laughed. A terrifying, gruesome sound that caused the hairs on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end.

The raven haired wizard took an unconscious step back, chills coursing through his body when there was no stop to those insane cackles. Harry didn't even want to admit how unsettling it was.

And just like that, the laughter ceased, like it had never been there to begin with. Voldemort remained motionless, his head bent downwards in the strangest angle Harry had ever seen, and his arms unmoving on the armrests. A corpse would look more lively in comparison. Then, that serpentine head was lifted slowly, and Harry had to use every ounce of willpower he possessed so as not to flinch at that twisted grin that was stretched across the Dark Lord's face.

Harry was finally starting to see what Dumbledore had meant by describing the Dark Wizard's soul as unstable.

"But you see, Harry…" Voldemort's tone was even, no emotion whatsoever contained in his voice, that for a moment Harry wished he had yelled instead, "I already own you. In fact, you've been mine ever since that Halloween night, fifteen years ago!"

Harry froze where he stood, his fists flattening out on the table while his back was becoming stiff by having stayed bent forward for too long. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to care. Green eyes slowly lost their intensity, staring blankly ahead. "…What?"

Pearl white teeth were revealed to him as that grin widened more if possible. "'He transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar.' Wasn't that what Dumbledore said to you that night in his office? But the old fool tricked you, Harry. He knew, even back then, that it wasn't some of my powers but an actual shard of my soul that latched onto you that night, the only living being inside the building."

"I told you before that I don't plan on changing sides. Spouting lies just to-"

"Why do you speak Parseltongue?" Voldemort said, making Harry's gaze snap back to him. "That particular trait has only ever belonged to the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. It was the very cause of the accusations of you opening the Chamber in your second year."

Harry straightened up, head tossing from side to side. "That's only because of the rebounding Killing Curse."

"I never claimed any different. The Horcrux inside you is entirely at fault."

The teen felt like hollering, only the thought of a repeat of the earlier torture refraining him from doing so. "…That's enough already. I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not going to work." Harry whirled on the spot, not caring if he would be struck down with the Cruciatus, simply wanting to get out, to get away. He could feel his every heartbeat, so loud and deafening, as if it was beating right beside his ear. Strange…

"_What's happening to me?" _Harry halted in mid-step. What… did he just say? The boy turned around ever so slowly, purposefully staring at a spot in the middle of the long table. _"I feel so angry all the time. What if I'm becoming bad?" _Harry's brows knitted together into a scowl, his face twisting from the anger that bubbled up inside him.

"Those memories were private." he mumbled through clenched teeth, hands fisting in the material of his jacket. "Who gave you permission to spy on my entire life?"

"Is this what riles you so? Because you've felt _something_ inside you snap whenever you lose control over your emotions?" Harry hissed deep into his throat, head jerking to the side with a short, snapping sound that had the boy grimacing from the sudden sting.

Last year's events couldn't possibly be eradicated from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. The hell he had been put through, by classmates and professors alike, was exactly what had triggered such extreme reactions from him. Never in his whole life had he felt so utterly frustrated and furious. What he had told Sirius was true. He had been feeling that nonstop anger coursing through his veins all year long. An anger that had reached its peak the night Mr. Weasley was bitten.

A startled cry was ripped from him the moment icy cold fingers encased his wrist, wide eyes instantly centering on that pale face, too shocked to comprehend when the Dark Lord had left his seat.

Voldemort yanked him closer, bringing Harry's still captured hand higher for better inspection, slit-like pupils not once straying away from the appendage. "Let go," growled Harry, pulling at the unyielding grip for emphasis.

"One must not tell lies, Harry. Not even to one's self." Voldemort muttered softly, deep blood-red eyes briefly meeting with bright green ones before looking downwards again at the back of the teen's hand. "You should know that better than anyone."

Harry didn't bother to keep his hiss low this time. Glowering at Voldemort, he pulled at those fingers harshly, his wrist dislodging from that hold with a slight cracking sound. Voldemort's expression hardened, watching as Harry cradled his hand close to his chest, the boy's own eyes scorching, like a threatened animal. "You've guessed it by now, haven't you?" Voldemort smirked at the sliver of hesitation that entered if only for a moment in that gaze. "A vessel does not have the power to shield out the person whose soul fragment they host. Every single of your thoughts I've been able to hear during this evening."

"Your Horcruxes have all been objects!"

"The ones that Dumbledore had the chance to riddle out." Voldemort stepped closer, Harry hurrying to match his movement by taking a step backwards, wary eyes refusing to even blink with his enemy only a breathe away.

"Why? There are more?" Voldemort outright laughed at the foolishness and pure naivety of that question, indulging Harry with a mirthful chuckle while moving forward yet again. Harry glared, not wasting a second more to navigate his body backwards.

"More than the three that Dumbledore had guessed at? Why yes, I'm afraid there are."

"How many?" Harry persisted, keeping to the rhythm they had set and adjusting their distance to his liking. Voldemort actually paused in his stalking, head tilting sideways to regard Harry from head to toe, causing the younger wizard to take another step back out of instinct.

"The last, unintended one would measure up to the number I had first aimed for."

Seven Horcruxes? That was the number that Tom Riddle had mentioned to Slughorn, wasn't it? The strongest magical number. The thought was enough to make Harry dizzy, his aching head giving a painful throb. The man's words replayed themselves over and again in Harry's mind like a broken, annoying record. "Unintended?" he mumbled to himself, brows creasing together.

"After all," Voldemort began, advancing yet again towards the now completely still teen, "you're the one Horcrux I never meant to create. The one I had no knowledge of until only recently."

"SHUT UP!" Harry bellowed at the top of his lungs, turning sharply on his heel and moving around the table, away from the Dark Wizard. "Lies, lies, lies, li-" His breath caught, effectively rendering him incapable of any form of speech. He couldn't move, could only stare enraptured as the creature that was curled before the blazing fireplace unwind itself, stretching to its full length. Glistening green eyes were pinning him in place, the black slits narrowing further as it flicked out its forked tongue. The action repeated itself a couple more times, the huge serpent sniffing the air almost hungrily before blinking.

Harry had never met the Dark Lord's fearsome familiar in person, only now connecting the image of the snake he had witnessed attacking Ron's dad with the one he was seeing now. So, this was the infamous Nagini.

The snake's scales sparkled under the light of the fire, its enormous body was revealed to him in all its glory as it slithered away from the fireplace, steadily moving closer and closer to the spot where Harry was rooted. His eyes traced its every move, unable to let it out of his sight. He had never really been afraid of snakes. The few small ones he had seen in his aunt's garden never bothered him, and his first attempt to talk to one was that python in the zoo. This one however…

"_You ssspeak my tongue." _Harry stiffened, strangely not because of the close distance between them, but due to her words and the absolute certainty with which they were uttered.

Her observation skills must have been than he had anticipated because she nodded her head, seemingly responding to a musing of her own. _"You sssmell of kin." _Her eyes hardened, as if she was dissatisfied with something. _"Why doesss your ssscent resssemble my massster'sss?"_

It was like a blow to his gut. His mind was in complete disarray, screaming at him to deny her words, to ignore her lies. And yet, he couldn't seem to find his voice.

"_There are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter." _He winced, clutching his head as Riddle's words from four years ago came back to him. _"Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike…"_

"No," Harry muttered, "I'm nothing like you." Briefly, the image of the leather diary flashed in his mind, seemingly summoned by the spoken words of its owner. He still felt disgusted by the familiarity he had felt when he had touched it for the first time, like it belonged right there in his arms. And from the similarities that even his twelve year old self had sensed from his talk with Riddle, how he could sympathize with the boy.

"_But you see Harry, magic, especially dark magic, leaves traces." _Dumbledore had had the strangest look on his face when he said that, one so peculiar that Harry had hardly ever seen it before. A look that was directed to him.

Traces, he had said… Wasn't Parseltongue such a trace? He couldn't possibly explain why he had that trait. The only common ancestors between him and Voldemort were the Peverell brothers. Not Salazar Slytherin.

"Stop it," Harry sobbed, both hands clutching his pounding head desperately, fearfully. It was a lie, right? Something like this couldn't possibly be true.

His back came in contact with the wall, hardly noticing the change. His vision was becoming blurry and his head was absolutely killing him. He could recall with perfect clarity every single event that had taken place during last year. The raw hatred he had felt towards Umbridge, especially the murderous intent that had stirred inside him when Dumbledore kept ignoring him, even turning a blind eye to the punishments he had been receiving from his Defense teacher.

…That night in the Headmaster's office, he had really felt the urge to bite him as if he was a poisonous snake himself, to rip him to shreds and force him to have a taste of what real pain was like. The emotion that had taken over was too severe and intense to belong just to him. It was almost like it was a combination between his own frustrations and another's raw loathing.

"No, no, no, no…" Harry chanted, each word accompanied by a collision of his head against the solid, hard surface behind him. It was painful to even consider the possibility of some truth behind all their words.

His breathing was ragged, becoming more difficult by each second to draw air into his restricting lungs. He smacked his head backwards again, with more force this time. The tiny explosions that flashed behind his closed eyelids served as a welcome distraction, everything beside the horrific reality was welcome. He repeated the action, again and again, each time harder than the previous one. The numbness that had taken over him was preventing any other emotion to have access in his mind, even pain. The only indication he had about the results of his actions was that constant black spots that were dancing in his vision even when he reopened his eyes, creeping closer and closer.

There was a harsh pressure all around his throat, and the next thing Harry was aware of, his body was slammed against the floor. His scalp was itching horribly, distinctly giving Harry the impression that something must be wrong but not motivating enough to encourage him to take some form of action.

Cruel crimson eyes were looking down at him and he could only stare emotionlessly back, not batting an eye even when those pale, cold fingers tightened their grip around his throat, his vision turning completely black for a full second as he failed to take the necessary breath. When his eyesight cleared again the moment he took in a deep gulp of air, his lungs protesting in the process, Voldemort's face was too close, barely an inch away from his own.

"…So weak." the Dark Lord spat in clear disdain, those pale lips curling into a disgusted sneer. And Harry gazed on in wonderment, finding funny the way his vision was turning black again, and this time remaining like that.

**END OF CHAPTER SIX**

**So terribly sorry for taking so long. It just took me a really long time to write this.**

**I hope you liked it!**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Scorching hot, liquid fire was surging trough his veins, turning his blood boiling even as he felt his muscles crumple, every single part of him seemingly entirely boneless. Everything simply felt numb.

Then, sudden bile crept up his throat, and Harry's eyes snapped open. A gasp fell past his lips before a coughing fit caused his whole body to spasm, only worsening when his senses caught up with the suffocative grip around his bare throat.

His eyes were beginning to water from the assault of his coughing, which promptly resulted with a much obvious supply of oxygen for his lungs. Hands were suddenly cupping his cheeks, and yet his eyes couldn't provide him with an image, too busy blinking the moisture away. Instinct of survival kicking in, Harry made a valiant attempt to struggle, but when the restricting force encircling his neck nearly choked him, his body fell still on its own.

Words were spoken to him but in the state he was in he couldn't possibly hope to comprehend them, his coughs and choked hiccups erasing all other noise. His companion must have concluded so too because those hands changed methods, and instead of just lightly slapping his cheeks in hopes of anchoring him towards the living world, they were now tilting his head backwards.

"Stop that," hissed someone when he pushed against the hands' hold on him. Breathing between his coughs was no longer a possibility and Harry was forced to obey. His head came to rest against a hard surface the moment he stopped resisting, that bruising grip around his throat instantly lessening and he wasted no time in opening his mouth, taking in huge gulps of air like a starving man.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply trough both his nose and lips, and savoring every second of it.

His breathing was still ragged once he slid them open again, but he decided to ignore it in order to finally get a glimpse of the figure, vaguely noting that the hands were now gone from his person. What he saw caused his gaze to harden.

"Seeing you here shouldn't come as a surprise; seeing as this was the side you had been working for all along." His voice came out rather raspy from his nearly choking to death, a fact that he chose to ignore in favor of supplying the man across him with a withering look.

"Your astute observations never cease to amaze me, Potter." said the black haired man, his own eyes narrowing into a glare.

Harry seethed, making to stand up the moment he realized that he was actually seated on the floor and absolutely refusing to have his hateful teacher towering over him like a giant bat, and outright yelping as his throat was constricted yet again. Instinctively, he threw his head backwards to avoid having the life squeezed out of him for a second time, only to grunt when it collided harshly with what he could only assume was the wall.

"Aww!" he hissed, an inexplicably excruciating pain shooting throughout his scalp. Was it supposed to hurt so much? He tried lifting his arms to rub his aching head, blinking profusely when he found them unyielding to his command. "What the-?"

"The Dark Lord thought it wise to take it upon himself to restrain any future suicidal attempts on your part." Snape said, disdain written all over his face as he looked down his nose at Harry. "At least until the results of your previous one are properly healed."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry thrashed on the spot, attempting to free his hands from whatever restraints they were in and failing miserably. "What did he put around my throat?!" he shouted enraged, realizing that the reason why he couldn't even move his head forward an inch was due to something heavy being wrapped around his neck. Hell, he could hardly look down at his arms!

"Currently, cuffs have been placed around your throat and hands which, as you must have guessed by now, are directly connected with the wall you're propped up against." A smug smirk crept onto Snape's features at the look of utter disbelief that was sent his way, "As I said before, the Dark Lord wanted to prevent you from trying anything troublesome again. Personally, I find everything that concerns you a waste of time, but the trouble I went through to treat you would have definitely gone to ruins."

Harry blanched. "Treat-? Why would you need to do such a thing?"

An arched brow greeted him in response. "Either the wound was more severe than I had first deducted, or the shock simply hasn't worn off yet."

A low growl passed through Harry's clenched teeth when all he could do was glare up at the person before him. "Answer the damn question! What wound? And what's all that crap about suicides?!"

"Strange that you claim ignorance about your attempts to take your own life, because if deliberately cracking your skull isn't called suicide then please, do enlighten me as to what is."

"C-Cracking?" Harry cursed himself inwardly for letting his voice quiver. But seriously, what was that man talking about? He'd never do such a thing. In contrast to what everyone seemed to think about the many times he had provoked Death, he actually valued his life. The price to keep it had cost far too much…

His entire body came to a halt, all movements ceasing as his brain finally absorbed the exact meaning of those words. Yes, he had indeed smacked his head against the wall a number of times, and he could remember the reason that had provoked such a violent reaction from him.

"Fuck…" he grumbled, eyes shutting tightly from the assault of all those memories. "And here I thought that it was just a bad dream."

"Wake up, boy!" The shout came out of nowhere, so sudden and plainly unexpected that it made Harry jump on the spot, eyes widening involuntarily. Snape's black eyes appeared colder than ever, an ugly scowl contorting his face. "Treating every hardship that comes your way like a silly, bad dream that'll fade away the moment you open your eyes is absolutely pathetic. I told you before that life isn't fair, so you should start dealing with that fact and face it like a man and not like an impertinent brat that's always whining about how cruel the world has been to him."

For a moment, Harry could do nothing but stare, shock and pure disbelief clearly etched onto his features. Then, his eyes hardened, teeth grinding together hard. The things that were taking place these days were seriously infuriating.

"How dare you?" he spat disdainfully, drilling holes into the man's head with the force of his glare, "How dare you lecture me about the way I deal with things? You! You who nearly got Sirius kissed by the Dementors because of some stupid, childish grudge?! You who put me through hell and beyond in all of my school years because of how much I look like my dad?! You who are a fucking Death Eater?! You who MURDERED the man that TRUSTED you and kept you out of bloody AZKABAN?!"

Harry huffed, chest heaving from the effort to inhale straight. He breathed deeply, small puffs of air forming before him in the chilly temperature of the dungeon. "How dare you tell me to grow up when I was never allowed to be a child?" he muttered darkly, "How dare _you_ to judge _me_?!"

"There you go again." Snape drawled, voice cold and unsympathetic. "Always complaining about one thing and another, you poor, mistreated boy."

The mockery was blunt, undisguised and plain for everyone to see. It shot Harry's anger up to new heights. He made to lurch forwards, momentarily neglecting his restrictions and biting his already abused lower lip to stop a gasp from slipping past when his throat was squeezed. He could sense it, all the frustration pilling up in a rate that not even Voldemort had achieved. And the man before him wasn't even worth it.

"Leave," he gritted out, "Get the hell out of my sight!"

Snape's coal-black eyes narrowed at the mere prospect of someone underage – that's right, at the mere prospect of a _child_ – ordering him around and making demands. It was even more ridiculous that said child was, in fact, a captive.

The boy met his deathly stare head on, seemingly unperturbed by a sight that would have sent even fully grown wizards to their feet. Detestation had been the sole emotion he ever experienced upon gazing at Harry Potter, from the very first day he had laid eyes upon him up to this moment. And that was something that wasn't going to change anytime soon. He had to admit though… ignoring the replica of Lilly's eyes was harder now that there were no horrid, painfully James-like glasses obscuring them from view.

And it was uncanny, disturbing too, the similarity between the resentment in this boy's eyes and the resentment that Lilly's had held, back in their school days when that cursed word had rebelliously slipped past his lips.

"Tch," Snape's lip curled upwards, pinning Harry with a hard stare, "Perhaps it is time you realized that childish antics have no place in the Wizarding World, Potter. Especially not in a Wizarding World that is at war."

Harry could only ground his teeth at the man's retreating back, the metal weight around his neck preventing him from any more drastic measures. And to think that his eleven year old self had been so damn excited at the prospect of learning how to brew potions, the one subject that Muggles tended to associate with magic. He hated himself, despised how the force of the hatred in the man's eyes could still make him recoil from time to time. A hatred that ran too deep and too strong for a mere grudge against his father.

He sank his teeth into the flesh of his lower lip, taken aback at the sudden trembles it was producing and hurrying to put a stop to it. The amount of effect his former teacher seemed to have on him didn't seem to lessen, not even outside school.

He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the awfully bitter taste that was still lingering in his mouth. Squashing down the abrupt urge to vomit, Harry felt like beating himself up when that sense of recognition was stirred, as if awakened by the horrible reminder of that other time when Voldemort shoved that sleeping draught down his throat. It appeared to jog his memory, once again recalling the hospital wing of his school and his many visits there. Another potion that he frequented, besides the Dreamless Sleep, was the Blood Replenishing. Not as usual as the former but still making his top five in the list.

And if he could, Harry would have definitely beaten himself up now. What the hell had he been thinking? Discarding his own safety like that? What infuriated him more though, was how weak he must have appeared in his enemy's eyes.

He could remember feeling lightheaded, his way too blurry vision and his inability to focus. Then of course, there was also the sensation of his head splitting in two. That settled it. He had definitely gone a bit overboard.

His eyelid fluttered shut of their own, as if shielding him from the oncoming assault of memories. He didn't care how cowardly it was, but he absolutely refused to deal with them at the present. Too many things to sort out. So he did the best next thing that appealed to him; shut the rest of the world out and allowed his thoughts to wander away, recalling the school days and losing himself in the memories of the fun times he had with his friends, embedding their faces on the forefront of his mind in the worst case scenario of never seeing them again.

When consciousness latched onto him like a leech again, he didn't know how much time had passed. He resented being dragged away from his dream world, and promptly cursed inwardly when he felt his scar prickle. At least he no longer had to wonder.

"Let me go." he muttered quietly, all too aware that he didn't need to speak loudly to be heard in the overbearing silence of the cell.

Besides, he was certain that no matter how low he spoke, his unwanted visitor had his ways of catching every single thought that swirled around in his head.

"And where would you go? Back in the company of your disgusting little pests, I suppose. But I wonder if they'd still welcome you with open arms after you told them about that extra piece of soul inside you."

Harry's eyes shot open, a snarl hurling from his lips. He glared at the figure leaning against the black, iron bars of his prison, loathing the man's assumptions more than even the sight of the man himself.

"Then you don't know them in the least!" he shouted, a growl slipping out the moment the restricted sensation returned with a vengeance, threatening to bring tears to his eyes.

There was a flicker of something unreadable in those pools of crimson, and along with the spiking in his scar, Harry was forced to take a sharp intake of breath.

"I don't need to know _them, _to have the slightest suspicion of their train of thought." Voldemort discarded the words like they were utter dirt. "Do you think they'd treat you kindly if they learnt that the Dark Lord leaves in you? That he has full access in your mind and has you under his absolute control?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Harry spat without thinking. "You could never control me!"

The next thing he knew, a palm was against his forehead and icy cold fingers were clamped over his head, extracting a cry of pure anguish as his formerly fractured scalp was violently slammed against the wall and his scar felt like it was set on fire.

And for the briefest of moments, Harry was could feel it. The connection that he claimed so hotly that didn't exist opened up, instantly showering him with such intense emotions. He felt suffocated, drowning in the waves of raw fury and maliciousness that were filling him to the core. A blood-curdling scream let itself loose from his throat as those feelings overwhelmed him, drawing away whatever air he had in his lungs and bringing to life all previous feelings of retching from deep within him.

Then, Voldemort withdrew, both mentally and physically, and Harry collapsed to the floor, not even registering the fact that he was no longer restrained to the wall.

He clasped a hand over his mouth, head falling to rest on the chilly stone floor while he forcefully pushed down the bile that had risen; mobilizing every ounce of control that he possessed in order to do so.

He lay there, spasms racking his body from top to bottom. Breathing heavily through the nose, Harry lifted a trembling hand to wipe the moisture from his eyes and wincing when one of his fingers rubbed lightly against his throbbing scar.

"However meaningless it is to mention this," Voldemort drawled in a low voice, causing Harry's body to stiffen at the undertone of dangerousness, "but I do believe my demonstration persuaded you of the power I have over you." And it was said with no little sickening glee.

Harry couldn't fail but shiver. If that was a mere demonstration, then he dreaded to even think what the real thing was like.

Letting out a breath he didn't know he was withholding, the raven haired teen pulled himself slowly together. At one point, he feared that his arms would outright fail him when there didn't seem to be a cease to their shivering. A long, drawn out sigh passed through his lips once his back was securely against the wall again.

Eyelids lowering to half-mast, Harry had to literally bite his tongue to prevent himself from looking away when the Dark Lord's gaze found his. A true battle of willpower.

Not feeling up to initiating another conversation, Harry lifted his arm to rub at the back of his head, a moan nearly spilling past when even the slightest bit of pressure hurt like hell. He quickly changed tactics then, running his fingers up and down his sore throat and relishing in the feeling of moving his arms again as well as being able to swallow with no hindrance.

He watched Voldemort watching him getting reacquainted with his limbs, feeling himself tense as that heated stare dragged on without so much as wavering.

"Since you appear a tad more," Voldemort's lips curled upwards into a tantalizing smirk, "_accepting _of your situation, I have a job for you."

"I'm not going to murder for you." Harry stated, plain and simple, brows creasing together in disgust at the mere suggestion of it. "So save it if that's what you're going to ask."

That flicker of emotion was back in those dark red orbs, with the exception that Harry could now distinguish it as something wild. His eyes were the epitome of cruelty the moment he stepped closer to Harry, causing the teen to draw back instinctively. "The Dark Lord does not_ ask_. He always acquires what he desires. You'd do well to remember that in the near future, Harry."

Said person could only stare at him for a full minute, being reminded of that other time he had heard Voldemort addressing himself in third person. And damn, he couldn't decide when it had sounded scarier. Back at the graveyard, or right now. And that undertone of Parseltongue that tended to slip into the wizard's speech from time to time didn't help matters in the slightest. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose, as a reminder of the ancestry that Voldemort prided himself in. Or perhaps, he simply wanted to torment his followers some more.

The sly upturn of those lips made Harry suspect a combination of both before he frowned, actually remembering that his mind was an open book to the Dark Lord.

A tsking sound echoed from deep within Voldemort's chest, only serving to increase the teen's glare. "So forgetful. Oh, well… just another aspect of yours that requires to be fixed along with your defiance, my little Horcrux."

"Don't call me that," Harry ground through clenched teeth. "I'm not one of your stupid trophies."

The gleam that suddenly set alight those hellish eyes didn't bode too well with Harry. "Quite the contrary. You're the more valuable amongst them… My most prized possession."

Heat rose to Harry's cheeks, face contorting in humiliation. "I'm no one's possession!" he yelled outraged, fire flaring in his eyes.

In fear of having his head thrown against the wall again, Harry didn't bother to stand up, knowing well enough that if Voldemort wanted to subdue him there were more ways than one at his disposal. Sensing his thoughts, the corners of Voldemort's lips morphed into the darkest smile Harry had ever seen, one that sent shudders down his spine and made the air around them seem downright freezing.

Thus, when Voldemort crossed the few steps that separated them, Harry was justified to press himself flush against the stone surface behind him, every single muscle in body tensing over.

Then, Voldemort raised his arm and Harry actually flinched, eyes shutting in preparation of the excruciating, mind-numbing pain that was bound to follow in consequence of his scar being touched. A choked gasp escaped him when an icy sensation enveloped the right side of his face, eyes snapping open to stare upwards in shock.

Voldemort was staring down at him, red eyes mirroring the ever sinister smirk that was firmly in place. Using the back of his fingers, he was running three of those long digits up and down Harry's cheek, so cold that the teen could feel the area slowly going numb.

Harry scooted – or more like bolted – to the side, angling his body sideways and leaning back against his arms as wide, terrified green eyes remained glued to Voldemort's face, unable to look away from the smoldering stare even if he wanted to.

…He hadn't felt any pain.

For a flitting moment, Harry was left rooted to the spot, too shocked to even bat an eye. But once that notion sank deep enough, he crawled backwards, wanting to reestablish the distance between them now more than ever. Horror and terror were clawing at his chest, unable to comprehend why besides its usual prickling his scar hadn't exploded like it used to, unable to settle with this new order of things.

He didn't know whether Voldemort caught a whiff of his musings or he simply saw the onslaught of emotions in his eyes, but his whole demeanor suddenly radiated an aura of smugness. Or was that because Harry had gotten good at attuning himself in the man's moods?

Now, _that_ musing scared Harry shitless.

"When I wish it, there can be no pain for you, Harry" Voldemort's tone was low, nearly purring, something that Harry had come to associate as immense satisfaction on the other's part. "Obey my words, Harry. Follow them accordingly and you won't have to be hurt ever again."

Foolish, traitorous hope fluttered inside Harry's chest at the prospect of never again being subjected to Voldemort's wrath like he had earlier, of never having to go through all that hell again. He squashed it down however, when he played over in his mind the scene.

"I already told you that I wasn't planning to become one with your boot lickers." A throaty growl left his lips. "And I don't think I'll change my mind anytime soon."

Voldemort cast him a scathing look, lips quirking up into a sneer full of spite. But soon, any kind of emotion was schooled away, leaving his usual emotionless mask behind. "Very well." Those two words were like steel, acute and to the point.

And Harry didn't know whether to rejoice at his small victory or Curse himself and be done with it. Well, there was that problem of not having a wand, so…

"As I said…" Harry's attention instantly shot back to Voldemort, berating himself from choosing all the wrong moments to space out, "…truly entertaining." And there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that gave Harry the vague idea of – dare he say? – amusement.

There was no time to dwell on it though because, in a quick succession of movements, Voldemort pulled something out of the inner pocket of his robe – the very same place that his precious wand had disappeared into – and with a flick of that pale wrist, the object was sent flying at him with a speed that couldn't help but alarm Harry. Never before had he been more thankful for his sharp reflexes, only those long and long hours of practice enabling his arm to shot out at the moment it did, catching whatever had been thrown at him and encaging it with his fingers.

Harry allowed one relieved exhale of air to pass through his nose, before curiosity took its toll on him and he brought the offending object closer to his face, glaring at the shining, gold locket that had nearly hit him squarely on as if it was its own fault, and then promptly blinking to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Jaw tightening, he glared at the elegant emerald-jeweled cover for a whole new reason. He had half a mind to smash that thing to the ground, break it to smithereens, and he'd have carried along with his brilliant plan if Voldemort's voice hadn't cut right through his scheming.

"Do you sense anything from it?"

Such a simple sentence, and yet Harry was left staring dumbfounded at him. Blinking a couple of times, he let his gaze fall downwards, scrutinizing at the object in case he was missing some crucial detail. He turned it over in his hands, observing the underside as well and finding it totally unblemished. Then what-

"Magically?" the Dark Lord verified, and Harry felt the blush creeping up his neck.

Downright refusing to lift his eyes and see the definitely amused look that was bound to be there, Harry righted the locket in his hands, trying the clasp that tied the two parts together but it wouldn't yield. Scowling, he placed a palm over the cover and tried to sense for any vibes that Dark Magic usually left behind.

That cursed necklace that Malfoy had failed to give Dumbledore was full of them, reeking of a menacing sensation that had sent chills throughout Harry's body. But for a supposedly cursed object, this locket…

"I don't feel anything." he voiced after a while, raising searching green eyes for any kind of confirmation and founding it when Voldemort gave the curtest of nods.

He snapped his thumb and forefinger together, making Harry jump slightly the moment the locket popped open in his hands. The inside was fairly simple, made of black onyx rather than the gold, or even silver, that Harry had expected. He didn't know much about Salazar Slytherin except for the basics, but this simplicity just didn't seem to suit the personality that Harry had cooked up in his mind.

"It appears that the locket you're holding is a fake."

"A what?!" Harry shouted, before the man had any time to go on, and earning a reproachful look in response. But Harry didn't see any of that. "What do you mean 'fake'? Dumbledore died so that we could obtain this and you're telling me it's not even the real Horcrux?!"

A hiss slipped past his lips at the sudden throb in his scar, glaring heatedly at the man across him for using that method again for punishment.

"That was a mere warning." Voldemort informed him, his tone clipped. "But if you don't keep a hold over your emotions, then I shall have to make use of other, more _persuasive _means."

Harry dug his teeth onto the inside of his cheek, biting harshly to shallow back down the retort that would have surely risen if it wasn't for the pain. A coopery taste filled his mouth, but he was certain he preferred it over the torture that had taken place before.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed disapprovingly, making him sink his teeth deeper, harsher into his flesh. Pain bleared his eyes for a brief moment, but he paid it no heed. Watching irritation twist those deathly pale features was rewarding enough.

Voldemort favored him with a venomous look, before dismissing the subject altogether as too bothersome to deal with at the moment – but surely storing it away for a later time, Harry was certain – and then continuing from where he had left off. "I've already located the real Horcrux. And seeing as it wouldn't do to make a public appearance this early on in the war, your job is the retrieval of the locket."

It was Harry's turn to narrow his eyes, the clarity of his sight still managing to catch him off guard, but he quickly shook that notion away. "And let me guess. You'll let your minions have a go at me, a few Curses here and a couple more Jinxes there, in the hopes that I'll be left devoid of any fighting spirit?"

A deep, horrifyingly void sound rose from Voldemort's throat, and Harry realized with a shudder that it was actually a laugh. At least it was supposed to be. "Actually," Voldemort's eyes were gleaming with mirth, a foreboding sensation surging through Harry, "I've had the pleasure to discover a much more appealing method. A trade of sorts, if you prefer."

Harry nearly stumbled in his eagerness to sit up and perch himself on his knees, hope once again flaring deep inside him. "You'll give me my wand?"

"Your wand?" Voldemort chorused, sounding honestly surprised, before letting out a chuckle. "You misunderstood me, Harry. What I have in mind is something else, but you can judge for yourself if it's as worthy as your wand."

Harry's shoulders slumped, watching with only mild interest as the Dark Lord pulled yet two other things from within the folds of his robes. One was something small and undistinguishable that Voldemort placed on the floor, but Harry's eyes remained on the dark brown wand in the man's grip.

'_The Elder Wand.' _Harry's brain supplied him with, making his stomach lurch. _'Is he really the Master of Death now?'_

His eyes trailed after the stick, worry slipping into mind at the horrors that this single wand could produce, especially at the hands of the darkest wizard of all. He blinked then, quirking an eyebrow when Voldemort tapped the object on the floor with the tip of the wand. It sprung to life instantly, hopping for a moment on the floor, before it expanded, now appearing to be five times bigger.

A thin layer of some white clothe was covering something long, oval shaped at the top and round at the bottom. Puzzled, Harry turned questioning eyes towards Voldemort, frowning when the man smirked smugly at him.

Voldemort reached down slowly, making sure that Harry was following his every movement, and then pulled away the clothe. More bars, iron like and black like the cell's he was being held in greeted Harry, causing his lips to morph into a snarl, before he caught sight of something white and rather fluffy lying in a crumbled heap on the bottom of the cage.

When realization dawned upon him, Harry had already sprung to his feet, staring horror-struck at the unmistakable form of his snowy-white owl. Wide eyes jerked up to stare accusingly at Voldemort, fists clenching into tight balls as anger took over him.

"You killed her!" he yelled, outraged that for a split second he had actually believed that the Dark Lord would give him back something he considered valuable, only so that he could take it away again.

Laughing another hollow, pitiful laugh, Voldemort bent down, making Harry's eyes grow even wider when he probed the unmoving owl with the Elder Wand.

"No, stop-!" shouted Harry, not sure what he more harm could be done to something that already dead, but still not putting it past the Dark Lord's sick humor to mutilate his owl right before his eyes just for the spite of it.

He came to an abrupt halt however, when Hedwig's body shot upright, white feathers sliding against and through the bars as she stretched herself, two very much alive and gleaming golden eyes flickering all over the dump cell, observing her surroundings with an unappreciated glare. They settled on him seconds later and they grew obviously bigger, a loud hoot was let out, wings beating up and down as if she was preparing to take flight.

Harry almost crumbled down as immense relief swept over him, a hand coming up to rest on his torso, willing his heartbeat to slow.

"She was merely Stunned." was Voldemort's simple response, red eyes sending a withering glare towards the cage the moment Hedwig emanated a much louder hooting sound, actually making the owl pause all movement and noise before those round golden eyes narrowed back with an intensity that shouldn't belong to birds.

"Give her to me," Harry hurried to say, fearing that if the Dark Lord hadn't killed her before then he'd surely kill her now if she continued to glare like that at him. His owl had never been the submissive type.

Voldemort's stare was thankfully drawn away from Hedwig and came to rest upon him. Harry had to swallow the lump in his throat when the man raised his chin higher, looking down at him indifference. He sucked his lip into his mouth, worrying it over between his teeth as the silence stretched on, only breaking by Hedwig's impatient hooting and the sound of her beak clicking against the bars.

A trade, Voldemort had said. And Harry was the one that had to make the first move.

He had no idea how she had ended up in the Dark Lord's clutches. Had she followed him like every other time he went somewhere without letting her know? She had a tendency to do that. Not even Grimmauld Place's wards had been able to hold her out. Not that it mattered anymore. Voldemort would never let her go now that she knew this place's location. But if he kept her with him… he had no doubt that she wouldn't be allowed out of this cell, where there were no windows and the like, but at least she'd be alive.

He knew that Voldemort was already aware of his decision, and for the first time not because he had unlimited access into his mind, but simple because he knew him. Knew Harry and his willingness to defend a friend or someone equally important. That was why Voldemort had taken his time to capture his friends when they invaded Hogwarts; because if he had them, Harry would go down without a fight. He was aware of that himself.

"…Where do you need me to go?"

The satisfaction that washed over him from the other side of the link made him feel sick in his stomach, feeling like he had betrayed not only everyone else but himself too. And that was even more sickening.

Wordlessly, Voldemort tapped the cage again with the tip of the wand, its door finally bursting open. Wasting no time, with a sudden burst of speed from her outstretched wings, Hedwig soared all the way across the cell and landed with precise accuracy at Harry's shoulder.

She hooted again when he failed to give a satisfying response at her arrival, her big eyes blinking as she bent her head forward, nipping at his bangs to gain his attention. She puffed herself up when there was still no reaction, following with her eyes his line of sight.

She ruffled her feathers, irritated eyes staring between red and green gazes and then switching over again, offended that none of the two wizards didn't seem to pay any attention to her. She turned her head, ready to bite her master's ear for outright ignoring her, when Voldemort spoke up, making her glare for daring to interrupt her plan.

"You see, Harry, I always take care of my possessions. Do as I say, and you'll be rewarded. Defy me, and I'll strike where you hurt more." Red eyes suddenly flickered over to the owl, a wicked smirk slowly creeping onto his face, making Harry realize that he wasn't referring only to the animal.

Hedwig gave a soft hoot of surprise, looking down at her master through hooded eyes and thinking ways to punish him for dislodging her with his sudden shuddering.

**END OF CHAPTER SEVEN**

**Ok, so how was that? I think it was better than the previous chapter.**

**What do you guys think? **


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Harry was certain that a tick would develop on his right eye by the time this was over. True, his years at Hogwarts had helped with getting used to all the stares and discreet glances, but right now, he was finding it really hard not to fidget. He had to find out the hard way that being in the company of the Malfoy family was equated with being the center of attention. They obviously held more reputation than Harry had first thought. At normal circumstances, he'd have no problem with that, in fact, he couldn't have cared less.

But in the current situation, Harry found himself faced with a rather major problem. The people here weren't even bothering with being discreet about their stares!

Feeling, rather than seeing, another drawn-out look at the back of his head, Harry clenched his jaw, gaze involuntary jerking upwards to the woman walking before him. Her strides were precise and confident, her posture straight. She was either used to this kind of treatment, or hiding her emotions behind an emotionless mask was just her area of expertise. Harry was leaning towards the latter; she was a Slytherin after all.

Beside him, Draco shot him a withering look, disapproving of his blatant display of emotions, to which he answered with a narrow eyed look of his own. He absolutely refused to go through this farce while having Malfoy breathing down his neck.

There was a limit to how much a person could take, and believe it or not, even Boys-Who-Lived had theirs.

He was jostled out of his thoughts by the lift's jingling sound of arrival. The moment the grilles slid shut behind them, a huge load was lifted off his shoulders, making them slump in relief. An action that resulted with a snort from the boy behind him.

Ignoring it completely, Harry made sure to keep his eyes trained to the closed door in front of him, because if he didn't, he was going to chance a look over his shoulder at the mirror in the back of the lift, and that was something he really didn't want to do.

The single image of himself that his mind produced made him feel sick to the stomach. He felt violated, not only by his current visage, but his mere presence at the Ministry, and more importantly, the quest he was compelled to work out. A blatant betrayal to everything he had fought for through all these years. And from what he had gathered so far, there'd be more to follow, and he wouldn't be given any say in the matter.

His hands balled into fists, and he purposely sank his nails as hard as he could into his skin. An anchor to keep himself from dwelling too much on the depressing route his thoughts had taken, or some form of punishment for his actions? He truly didn't know.

The monotone voice of that woman echoed again, and Harry looked up automatically when she announced that they had reached Level One. The lift came to a leisure halt, and Harry fought momentarily for control over his limbs before urging his feet to move out, aware that he had to do so fast. Draco was next to emerge, followed closely by his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy still remained a riddle to Harry, one that he hadn't had the time to properly delve into, and from the looks of things, wouldn't be having for quite a while, he thought as he surveyed the area.

A corridor was stretching out at either side of him, long and thin, and dressed in a thick carpet of the same deep violet that the banner with the symbol of the Ministry down in the Atrium had.

Narcissa swept past him without a backwards glance, and went off towards the right. Malfoy was quick to fall in step with his mother, and Harry, being unfortunate enough to stall if only for a moment, was abruptly faced with the consequences of his actions. The moment Draco was a step away, an invisible thread pulled him forcefully along, tugging at his wrist with such force, that Harry lost his balance for the briefest second. Correspondingly, Draco's own wrist was twisted backwards, eliciting a startled gasp from the blond and then a consensual grunt as they collided with each other.

They pushed away simultaneously, Draco rubbing his sore chin and Harry his aching forehead, both glaring venomously.

"What's the matter, Potter?" the blond sneered, "Your legs are too short to keep up?"

Harry growled low, taking a step closer. "I'm not one of your underdogs, Malfoy. If you think that you can waltz up ahead like the stuck up moron you are and expect me to follow behind, you're sorely mistaken." The last words were accompanied by a jab at Draco's robed chest. The other teen swiftly stepped back, a thunderous expression on his face as he glared at Harry with all the strength he could muster.

"You want to remain on your feet?" Harry pressed on, completely unfazed, "Then you better take that stick out your arse and walk beside another person, than ahead of them."

He moved forward then, hardly concealing his smirk when Draco bristled before promptly falling in step with him. Harry felt no pity whatsoever for the blond. If he should suffer, then at least he'd have company. It was Malfoy's fault either way. If he disliked this, then he should have said so to Voldemort, or he could have simply refused the spell that Voldemort cast over them, tying their arms together.

'_Yeah, fat chance.' _Harry thought with a mental snort.

He hadn't really understood the incantation of the spell, and by the time Voldemort was finished, it was too late. Apparently, the man thought that Hedwig wasn't such a strong bargaining tool and wanted to make sure that Harry wouldn't run off at the first chance he got. Thus, how he had ended up stuck with his former classmate; Voldemort's idea of a cruel, sadistic joke.

Naturally, running away would have been the very first idea on the forefront of Harry's mind the moment he stepped out of the Death Eaters' headquarters, had the circumstances been any different. As it was, he couldn't afford to even consider such an option, not with his wand and Hedwig in the Dark Lord's care.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on the path ahead, turning on the next corridor when Narcissa did. The sight that greeted them had him pause in mid-step, bringing Draco to an abrupt halt as well.

"What?!" Draco hissed under his breath, but Harry was too busy staring at the faces of his friends to listen.

Thousands of leaflets, all of them a horrid pinkish-purple color, were soaring across their head, flying in circles over the open space ahead. But what caused Harry's breath to get lodged in his throat, were the faces imprinted upon them, accompanied by the person's name underneath the picture.

**RON WEASLEY – UNDESIRABLE NO.2**

**HERMIONE GRANGER – UNDESIRABLE NO.3**

**NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM – UNDESIRABLE NO.4**

**GINNY WEASLEY – UNDESIRABLE NO.5**

**LUNA LOVEGOOD – UNDESIRABLE NO.6**

**FRED WEASLEY – UNDESIRABLE NO.7**

**GEORGE WEASLEY – UNDESIRABLE NO.8**

The rest of the Weasley family followed next, along with Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, and two others that according to their last name Harry could only guess that they were Luna's father and Neville's grandmother.

He was rooted to the spot. Wide, disbelieving aqua-blue eyes stared at the faces of the people he cherished, unable to fathom what the hell was going on.

"Cygnus," The soft whisper fell on deaf ears.

When the third time still didn't stir any kind of reaction, a smooth hand took hold of his chin, guiding his head to the side. A pair of smoldering steel-blue eyes met his unfocused almond colored ones. "Cygnus," Narcissa called again, fiercer this time while tightening her hold on his chin, causing Harry to blink rapidly a couple of times, finally recalling his alias.

Narcissa nodded curtly once she was certain she had his attention. "We're here." She released her grip, straightened her back and gestured to a door across the room.

Harry stepped away from her as if burnt. Strictly forbidding his eyes from straying away towards the leaflets again, he made his way over to the other side of the room, aware all the while of Malfoy's overbearing presence by his side. And for once, he found himself feeling grateful towards the blond for his cooperation. Disoriented as he was already, tripping over his own feet because of some stupid spell was the last thing he needed.

They came to a stop only once they had reached the polished, mahogany door. At the very top of it, on a shining, golden plaque he could distinctly make out the words _**MINISTER FOR MAGIC**_.

Narcissa lifted her arm and brushed her knuckles across the wooden surface, the knocking sounds echoing way too loudly in the wide area they were in. Blinking, Harry realized that indeed, it was quieter than it should. Casting a sideways glance, his whole body stiffened upon meeting all those stares that were trained on them. Goosebumps rose all over his skin, making him shiver. Golden strands suddenly obscured his vision, and he blinked at this unexpected turn.

"Ignore them." was the soft murmur in his ear, which was followed by a gentle caress to his hair.

His toes curled from the effort it took him not to move away, aware of how that would appear to a third party. So, instead, he waited until Narcissa deemed that her show of affection had done its trick. He nearly recoiled when she bestowed a kiss on the crown of his hair, before finally withdrawing. Yes, they were supposed to play the role of a happy, loving family, but at the moment, he found it really hard to control the malice in his glare.

The wooden door swung open so suddenly, that it snapped him out of his ire. In the threshold stood a wizard dressed in black robes rimmed with golden threads. A pair of coal black eyes stared down at him while a single black eyebrow disappeared into the wizard's hairline the moment their gazes met.

Wordlessly, the man stepped to the side, and gestured them inside. Harry didn't need to be told that this was his cue. The moment Narcissa's hand rose to grasp his shoulder and usher him in, Harry was already moving forward, effectively evading the pale limb. The moment all of them were in, the door was closed and locked behind them, and Narcissa pulled out her wand, casting a quick Silencing Charm.

"Everything went smoothly, I presume?" Pius Thicknesse had to cease his observation of Harry in order to address Narcissa.

The blonde witch however, didn't spare him a single glance as she made her way towards one of the high backed chairs in front of the Minister's desk. "We're here, are we not?" The corners of Narcissa's eyes tightened in annoyance. "That, by itself, should answer your question."

Next to him, Draco snorted softly in amusement, warranting a glare from Thicknesse at the obvious mockery. Harry himself was regarding Narcissa curiously. He had gotten the impression that Thicknesse was a Death Eater that the Dark Lord had appointed as Minister for Magic due to his political knowledge. But by the cold, dismissive way that Malfoy's mother treated him, that didn't appear to be the case. Surely, if Thicknesse was someone that Voldemort held in high regards, she wouldn't possibly be so bold as to openly show her dislike of him.

Another greedy wizard then, that simply couldn't refuse the prospects that came with siding himself with the Dark? Most likely.

"And the wand that the boy gave upon your arrival?"

Narcissa's gaze hardened considerably. "A spare one that the Dark Lord had acquired during his travels abroad. Are you quite finished?"

Harry tore his eyes away from the glaring pair, letting them drift downwards to the pocket of the dark blue robes he was wearing. The wand that currently resided inside had probably been taken from the cold, lifeless fingers of its previous owner. That particular notion caused him to cringe.

"So, then…" the Minister spoke suddenly, making Harry jerk his attention back to him, "We shouldn't waste any more time. The Dark Lord was specific about the time given, I take it?" The last part was delivered with an inquisitive arched eyebrow in the direction of Narcissa.

"Three hours, at most." The response was curt and to the point.

"And there's that." Harry grumbled darkly, "Not only he wants me to find his own goddamn locket, he wants me to do so in three bloody hours. Just one floor of this building will take much more than that to search."

"I was of the impression that you had been given certain instructions." Narcissa's head was, ever so slightly, nearly unnoticeably, tilted sideways, a genuine curious expression upon her face. Harry huffed, his head turning the other way. "He didn't bother with the details."

Eyebrows creasing into a scowl, he lifted one hand to his forehead, the pads of his fingers barely brushing over the area where his concealed, jagged scar was.

"_This is no ordinary curse scar." Voldemort said, the tip of the Elder Wand moving out of the way the black fringe that obscured said scar from his view. _

"_Yes, you might be surprised, but I kind of figured that out myself." Harry replied, swatting away the offending object that kept on probing his forehead, causing Voldemort to stare down at him through narrowed eyes._

_Closing one eye at the brief, warning throb that his scar produced, Harry bit down on his lip to prevent himself from lashing out, aware that the next painful throb would be much more excruciating and definitely not as brief. _

"_The Horcrux inside it won't allow any form of glamour, or concealment charms to remain for long periods of time. The glamour that I'm going to place on you is the strongest in existence. It shall last for precisely three hours."_

_Eyes growing inexplicably wide, Harry took a step back unconsciously. "T-Three hours? You want me to look for Slytherin's locket in three hours?"_

_The corners of Voldemort's mouth stretched. "That's exactly what I want you to do, Harry, and you shall."_

_Yes, he would do so simply because he had no other choice. The Dark Lord had already forced him into this, of course the man would want to set the rules as well. Harry's eyes strayed momentarily towards Hedwig, watching as she preened herself inside the silver cage she had been placed in. During his absence, Voldemort deemed it suitable for the bird to keep him company. So that she wouldn't feel lonely while her master was away, the Dark Lord had said._

_As if sensing his distress through the intensity of his gaze, Hedwig's feathered head jerked away from her wing, golden eyes locking with his own green. A loud hoot echoed throughout the otherwise empty cell, soon followed by the sound of her beak against the thin bars of her prison._

_Hands balling into fists at his sides, Harry looked away. "How am I supposed to find it? The task is impossible as it is, let alone done and over with in three hours." He didn't care if he sounded as desperate as he felt. Way too many things depended on his performance. _

_Ice cold fingertips came in contact with his chin and Harry, alarmed, took several steps backwards, only to have his forearm seized in a vice like grip that had him involuntary flinching. _

_Any demands of being released flew right out of the window the moment his other forearm was taken captive as well. Harry froze, dreading the onslaught that was bound to ensue, but as his gaze remained imprisoned within Voldemort's, his anticipation ebbed away slowly. Instead, frigid cold fear gripped his insides as he watched the crimson orbs inching closer, noticing for the first time the darker red, nearly black, flecks in them. And yet they remained impossibly bright._

_It was a fleeting thought, but for a moment, Harry couldn't fail but ponder whether his own eyes had turned out just as luminous because of the soul shard that resided in him._

_The thought of the Dark Lord's soul piece affecting him in more ways than just the Parseltongue, tore a strangled moan from his parted lips, the sound pitiful even to his ears. Head snapping to the side, Harry's eyes trained themselves on the ground, taking large inhales of air. The sudden shift didn't appear to deter Voldemort, and the teen's eyelids shut themselves at the contact of the man's breath on his ear._

"_The moment you are near it, you shall know. Find it, Harry. Find your brother soul and bring it home."_

"Didn't bother, you say?" Harry blinked, brought out of his trance by the softly uttered words. A small sigh spilled past his lips as he lifted one hand to scratch at the invisible scar in agitation. It had been itching ever since they stepped foot in the Ministry. "He was just pretty vague with his instructions."

The witch's eyebrows creased into a frown as she regarded him through hooded eyes. Soon though, her gaze flickered to the side, pinning Thicknesse with a stare that had the wizard's stance turning defensive. "It appears it shall take us a while. Why don't you proceed with your day, Minister? We'd hate to keep you from your duties."

Her light tone would have Harry absolutely fooled if not for the steeliness of her eyes. Something that didn't slip the Minister's notice.

"…But of course." The man's lips formed a tight line. "The Dark Lord has made it clear that no one is to get in your way. Let's just hope," He cast a sidelong glance towards Harry, "that the boy knows what he's doing." His eyes shifted back to pierce Mrs. Malfoy. "…For all our sakes." And with a curt nod at the witch, he was out of the door.

"Now, would you mind enlightening me about the happenings in the outside world?" Both members of the Malfoy clan turned as one to look at Harry, identical unreadable expressions on their faces.

Harry stared back, hard and unwavering. "I just saw pictures of my friends out there, being declared as wanted criminals with given rewards to anyone that captures them. Their families too. Could any of you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Mrs. Malfoy's lips thinned. "If he hasn't deemed it necessary for you to know, then it is not our place to say."

Harry's teeth dug into the flesh of his lip, eyes straying over to the window in the back and then the Atrium below. It was crowded as usual, full to the brim with Ministry officials and workers, all dressed in their department's assigned robes. His gaze traveled to the centre, drawn to the gigantic, granitic statue and detesting the very sight of it. But what he detested more was the implication behind it. So many things had changed in such a sort notice.

Hands clenching into tight balls, Harry stalked over to the desk, determined to get the answers he wanted on his own. He started opening the drawers one by one, earning strange looks from both mother and son in the process, but paying them no heed. He rummaged around, pushing folders and quills and all other irrelevant things aside, searching for the morning's Prophet.

He had only four drawers left when his scar started acting up, much later than he had anticipated. Not surprised in the least, Harry proceeded to outright ignore it, something that of course, didn't sit quite well with the Dark wizard on the other side of the connection. Sensing his rebelling thoughts, the prickle turned to an all out pounding, causing him to momentarily sway on his feet from the abrupt dizziness.

"Mr. Potter?" Narcissa's eyebrows knitted together, watching the way he clutched the edge of the desk while his other hand was busy gripping the side of his head.

Harry didn't respond, he couldn't even if he wanted to. Jaws grinding together, he bent to rip open the last of the drawers, breaking an ink bottle in his frenzy and spilling its contents everywhere inside the drawer. Uncaring for the mess he had created, Harry banged it shut to move to the next one, only to freeze with his hand poised in midair. There was no next.

Harry's eyes slowly grew in size, desperately studying the desk's surface in case it was there and he had missed it. But to no avail. There was no _Daily Prophet _on that desk.

"No way…" Harry breathed out.

"Oi, Potter!" Draco snapped from his side, promptly faltering upon seeing the obvious disappointment in Harry's eyes.

Unable to pace like he wanted to, Harry settled for the next best thing; circling around Malfoy like a bloody hawk, while cursing Dark Lords to hell. His former classmate's glare was heavy, drilling his scalp and voicelessly prompting Harry to cease his childish version of throwing a tantrum. The raven haired teen drove the fact that that was exactly what he was doing to the far corners of his mind, and immersed himself into the cardinal obstacle.

Harry's steps came to a sudden halt.

Obstacle… But of course! Swiftly, sapphire eyes traveled downwards, instantly spotting the arm so close to his own that they could be touching if one of them flexed his fingers. The wheels in his mind were set in motion, fueled by the abrupt shift in his notions and encouraged by the fruit they seemed fortunate to produce.

Harry's eyes shut instinctively at the new onslaught of pain that was poured into him. And the enraged headache that appeared out of nowhere had been foreseen as well, with no doubt the result of having his thoughts read. After all, Voldemort had made certain to inform him that he'd be keeping tabs on their little mission. Yet, despite it all, Harry found himself grinning like a fool, the satisfaction of the fruition of his plan too immense to handle.

'_That's right.' _Harry thought, his mental musings too cocky for his own good, but unable to feel bothered by it at the moment. And the Dark Lord must have thought so as well because the teen soon found himself wincing at a particularly vicious sting behind his scar.

'_You can't communicate directly with them as you can with me. And that hall outside was pretty packed, was it not? At least a hundred workers, I would say. So… if I were to, let's say,' _another ear splitting grin crept onto Harry's face, _'go out there, and bring down my glamours, they wouldn't be able to see through my intentions and therefore, they wouldn't stop me. My guess is that I'll see your mark if I were to roll up Malfoy's sleeve, but you could only warn him by making it burn.'_

Harry brought his hand up, bringing the pad of his thumb between his lips and absentmindedly sucking on it, absorbed in unraveling the course his thoughts were taking.

'_You'd still have no means to let them know. If I were to walk out now, they'd just think that I found a way to locate your locket. And I'm pretty sure that at least one of those people out there would be able to recognize the same Boy-Who-Lived that disappeared supposedly a few days ago.' _By that point,Harry's face was seriously beginning to hurt by the intensity of his grin. He had really done it, hadn't he? Got one on the Dark Lord?

As if responding to his very question, his head exploded in pain, eliciting a sharp, started cry from Harry's lips. But Voldemort wasn't done. A series of mind numbing, excruciating stings were delivered directly to his scar, at the same minute that blinding hot, profound fury engulfed Harry's entire being, filling him to the brim and setting his very magical core on fire. Every nerve in his body seemed to scream in protest, his muscles faltering under the torturous assault and abandoning him in the most crucial moment.

He fell to his knees, a pained, drawn out groan tearing away from within his throat as he pressed the heels of both hands harshly against his flaming forehead.

He was barely aware of someone shouting his name close by, but then, that person reached out to grasp his shoulder, and Harry's eyes shot open, hollering as the sensation in his head worsened tenfold, bringing scorching tears in his eyes that were quick to roll down his face, leaving a burning trail on his cheeks.

But soon, his numbing brain seemed to register another person's screams, filling the room alongside his.

Grunting still, Harry cringed at the willpower it needed to merely crack one of his eyes open. Only a few feet away, Malfoy was also on his knees, face contorted in a pained grimace while clutching one of his arms with his hand. The grip he had on himself appeared to be bruising to the very least, but the blond was too busy fending off the excruciating waves sent to his Dark Mark to notice.

Narcissa Malfoy was hovering above her son, watching him with a frown on her lips, but seemed to have realized what was taking place and stood stoically through the boy's punishment.

But the way her fingers kept twitching from time to time didn't escape Harry's notice. She was being tortured as well. Forced to witness her only child's suffer and knowing that if she were to stun him to relieve him of his agony, his punishment would only intensify.

Harry ground his teeth together. And to think that this was his fault. Malfoy had dared meddle with the Dark Lord's punishment of Harry, and now he was getting a taste of the man's raw ire.

Not giving himself the luxury to think it over, he withdrew from the depths of his robes the wand that had been given to him. Malfoy was his childhood enemy, but that didn't mean he deserved to be hurt on Harry's behalf. With a barely murmured whisper, the blond slumped to the ground at exactly the same moment that Harry did.

He doubled over, his mouth opening in a scream but his vocal cords were already weakened from all the previous ones to strengthen this one as well. His head felt like it was being run over, spasms raking his whole body as a result of a torture that could equal the Cruciatus Curse. He was quickly losing all feeling with his limbs, knowing they existed but only appearing as dead weight at the moment. And just before sweet, blissful oblivion caught a hold of him, all sensations slowly ebbed away from his body, leaving him coldly numb. The prickling in his scar however did not subside, a reminder that the threat could be back and there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Hands grasped his shoulders, gentle and yet the grip oddly firm. "No," Harry mumbled softly, batting them away weakly. "Don't touch me." He really didn't want a repeat of what had occurred a few minutes back.

"It's alright." Narcissa whispered, moving his hands away and slowly helping him into a sitting position, eliciting a grunt from the teen as his muscles were forced to bend. "I believe he's made his point for the time being."

Harry laid one arm against his churning abdomen, unable to summon the energy for a proper glare. Grayish-blue eyes followed the appendage thoughtfully. "Have you had anything to eat these past three days?"

Harry blinked absently at her, not expecting that particular question. "A couple of sandwiches before we came here…why?"

The blonde woman waved a hand dismissively. "It's just a surprise you managed to hold it in your stomach."

The corners of Harry's lips quirked upwards ever so lightly. "How he'd love that. Knowing that his torture was unbearable enough to make me retch."

He paused for a brief moment, the tingling sensation that had remained in his scar making him realize that Voldemort would actually enjoy that very much.

"…Sick bastard." he grumbled softly, placing both hands on the ground with the fingers splayed out. His entire body shuddered abruptly as he pushed himself to stand, knees nearly giving out from the effort.

Inhaling deeply, he made to pocket his borrowed wand when a sudden thought struck him, head jerking up to stare at the woman before him. "I just did magic."

Mrs. Malfoy couldn't resist arching one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at his incredulous tone. "I'd find myself rather disappointed if you hadn't already done so during your attendance at Hogwarts."

"I meant outside school!" Harry snapped, his voice almost shrill, border lining to panicked.

He had just performed magic outside of Hogwarts grounds…while he was still sixteen! And underage sorcery was prohibited. Fudge had made sure he learnt that during his hearing at the Ministry. He couldn't believe what he had just done.

"They won't let me go back to Hogwarts this time." He was actually surprised that Ministry officials hadn't come storming inside already.

On the verge of hyperventilating, Harry didn't register the grip on his bicep until it became too hard to ignore. Blue connected with blue and only at Mrs. Malfoy's next words was Harry brought back to reality. "Don't allow yourself to be fooled, Mr. Potter. Pius Thicknesse might have been assigned the new Minister, but the Dark Lord remains the one in charge. Thicknesse serves as a mere puppet, doing the puppeteer's bidding and nothing more. Even with the Trace on you, I doubt that Thicknesse would trouble our Lord with such a matter."

She let go of his arm and moved a few steps back, piercing him with a steady look. "The rest of our society is currently under the impression that you were taken by the Dark Lord and killed. The Minister would be a fool asking for his death wish if he were to let anyone else know of your existence, and especially of your presence here. And as for the matter concerning Hogwarts," here her eyes turned sympathetic, giving Harry a hunch of what she was about to say, "it is quite possible that you won't be going back, either way."

Harry averted his gaze, nodding his head robotically. But of course. How could he have forgotten such a minor detail as his prisoner status? He'd probably never see the outside world again, if Voldemort had any say.

Times like these always made him exhausted, leaving him wondering why he was fighting still.

Everything had already crumbled down. Dumbledore was dead, his parents and godfather too. He'd never see Lupin again, the way things looked, and his friends were being hunted down like some animals. Even the Ministry had been taken over. The previous Minister, Scrimgeour if he recalled his name was, must have been killed as well.

He glanced sideways, watching Mrs. Malfoy as she broke the Stunning Curse on her son. She did it non verbally, crouching down right after and stroking the boy's hair while he regained consciousness.

And as he observed Malfoy just lying there and relishing in the soothing comfort his mother was offering, he felt an outrageous bubble of jealously for the first time ever since he had met the blond. But the most overwhelming was the anger. How more pathetic could Malfoy get? A sting in his arm had him howling like the limb was being ripped off. He had no bloody idea what real pain was like. Physical and emotional alike.

And yet… he tried to help him. As disturbing as it sounded, Malfoy had actually wanted to ease his torment.

Scoffing, Harry took two steps – all that was needed to extinguish the gap between them – and crouched down, ignoring Malfoy's indignant squeal as he hauled him to his feet.

"What the hell is your problem!?" Malfoy wrenched his arm back, flashing Harry with a thunderous expression at the way he was manhandled.

"Good to see you're back to your brilliant, old self that I love to hate so much." Harry replied, sending a look of contempt of his own before he turned the other way, striding towards the door and simultaneously forcing Malfoy to fall in step with him. "Just thought we should get this over with while we still can."

The moment the door was opened a crack, he could sense the wards slipping away. It was like a cool breeze brushing past him, enveloping him from head to toe for a brief moment in the lightest of touches, before slowly withdrawing.

Hundreds of eyes landed on their forms the moment they set foot outside, like magnets. Refusing to display how disturbed they were making him feel, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin upon contact with cool fingertips against his, having not realized that Mrs. Malfoy had come to stand by his other side.

The woman must have sensed his curious gaze, for she parted her lips as little as possible without looking his way, "Have his instructions become clearer now?"

He couldn't help it. A snort of laughter escaped him, earning himself a reproachful look from the mother and a scornful pinch in the arm from the son.

"Nope," The smile that graced his lips was too cheerful, earning all three of them inquisitive glances from their audience. They came to a halt before the lift, and only then did Harry care to elaborate for his companions, "I think I'll just let my luck work some miracle again."

"Narcissa!"

While both Malfoys whirled around at the sound of the voice, Harry simply stiffened, the smile on his face slowly fading away into nothingness. He'd recognize that shrill quality almost anywhere, and it was all he could do not to cringe.

"How wonderful to see you, dear." said the plump woman the moment she reached them, her arms already rising to envelope the blonde witch in a loose embrace.

"Yes, it's been quite some time, hasn't it, Dolores?" There was no endearment in Narcissa's words, nor was any reciprocation in the hug.

Umbridge released her hold, her face losing its kind – too kind – smile, before she quickly regained control of her emotions and readjusted her expression. "Whatever brings you to the Ministry on this fine day?"

"Business with the Minister." Narcissa said, her own pleasant smile appearing less strained and coming out more natural. It was almost as if she had done this countless times before. "I found myself in need of some decent company though, and I requested my son and nephew to join me."

Umbridge's amber colored eyes swooped right to Draco at that, her smile broadening if possible. "So good to see you again, Draco dear."

The teen inclined his head, his smile wide enough to be considered as polite, respect towards his elders. "A pleasure, Madam."

She nodded in return. Then, her beady eyes turned to pierce the back of Harry's head, one eyebrow quirking upwards. "Your nephew, you say?"

"That's quite right." Narcissa walked over to the boy slowly, her pace leisure and at ease, before she wrapped one arm around his shoulders. She bent slightly, elegantly, to whisper something inaudible in his ear – causing Umbridge to raise another eyebrow – and then perched her hand on his shoulder when he turned around fully.

Instantly, amber eyes devoured the sight that was revealed to her, hungrily taking in every little detail. Soon, however, they paused in their examination and just remained locked with deep blues.

"My! His eyes are quite bright, aren't they? In fact, I doubt I've ever seen ones that glow like this."

"Really now?" Narcissa hummed, her fingers coming up to entangle in the boy's soft, golden locks. "Because I could swear I've seen at least another pair, just as luminous." Her smile was slowly beginning to stretch out, manifesting into a sly smirk. "Or have you already forgotten about Undesirable No.1?"

Draco had to admit; he was pretty impressed that Potter's expression had actually managed to remain blank all this time. In fact, he just kept staring at the ground, never straying from that one spot, not even blinking. Draco scowled. Something fishy was going on here.

"Harry Potter found his just end." Umbridge said, that blasted smile not once slipping away, like it was glued to her face.

Only years of training on proper pureblood etiquette kept Draco from outright sneering in front of Umbridge. The show was still on, after all.

Narcissa let out a soft laugh. "I never claimed otherwise, Dolores. My family and I have been quite pleased with the news of his demise. Ever since his first year, he's been pestering my son, foolish enough to start a quarrel with a Malfoy. Never really had any manners, that one."

"I couldn't agree more, my dear." And the endearment was back. But then, Umbridge blinked, seemingly recalling some crucial detail. Her eyes sought out Harry's again, frowning when the latter simply refused to avert his gaze from the carpet.

"But how rude of me! Why don't I introduce myself properly? I'm Dolores Jane Umbridge, Under-Secretary of the Minister for Magic, and Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission." She made then to reach out and take Harry's hands in hers, but to her utter disbelief, the boy actually recoiled at her touch before taking a step backwards, going as far as grasping a handful of Narcissa's robes in his fist, hiding half-way behind the witch's shoulder.

As indignant as it sounded, Draco was having a great deal of trouble just keeping his jaw from becoming one with the floor.

Narcissa wrapped one clothed arm around the teen's shoulders, pulling him into an one armed hug, her smile wilting somewhat, turning hollow. "Pardon his behavior, Dolores. You see, Cygnus here was the sole survivor of a recent raid. His parents, along with everyone else, were tortured and killed right before his eyes. It was quite a trauma for him."

For a fraction of a second, Draco's eyes widened considerably before he schooled them back, the corners of his lips tilting upwards. So that's what his mother had whispered to Potter's ear… the reason why the other was acting the way he was.

"Poor child," Umbridge cooed, her tone too sweet and sugar-coated to be real.

Closing whatever little distance existed between them, Draco took that pale hand in his, patting it soothingly and playing out his role of silently consoling his mourning relative. To his credit, the fingers between his merely twitched in irritation, but Potter didn't make any attempts to pull away.

"Cygnus you said this young man's name is?"

Narcissa chuckled lightly. "He may be Lucius' nephew twice removed, but his parents had requested me to be his godmother. I saw it befitting to grant him a Black name, seeing as I, too, am a Black married into the Malfoy line."

Umbridge's response was lost to Draco. A light, feathery tug at his hand, had him looking down as discreetly as possible, frowning slightly when Potter lifted his free hand to rub at his neck.

And just as Draco was about to brush off the incident as accidental, Potter's eyes that had been permanently stuck to the carpet at their feet for the sake of carrying out his part, were slowly dragged upwards, chancing a brief glance at Umbridge's direction before rocketing back down.

Blinking, he too looked at the woman that was now making light conversation with his mother, finding her as horrendous and old as usual. He'd have tightened his grip on Potter's hand to communicate his confusion had that little glittering thing not gotten his attention. Right there, curled around the old hag's wrinkled throat, was a thin golden chain. The jewelry that was hanging from the long chain wasn't visible due to the pink scarf that was obscuring it from view, but given Potter's reaction, Draco could take a wild guess.

"Don't tell me…?" he murmured lowly, tone as disbelieving as his eyes.

"Make her come into the lift with us." Potter whispered back, favoring him with a sidelong pointy look that had Draco's suspicions proven correct. With that, Potter slowly slipped away from both Malfoys' grip and made his way to summon said lift.

Gathering that this was his cue, Draco lifted his fist close to his mouth and coughed lightly into it, effectively interrupting the women's discussion.

"My apologies for interfering," his tone sounded as sincere as he had intended, "but I'm afraid we really should get going, mother. Good as it may be for Cygnus to get out of the Manor more frequently, I reckon it wouldn't be wise to overdo it."

His mother nodded. "You're right, Draco, of course." And as her manners demanded, she turned to Umbridge and said, "Would you care to accompany us, Dolores? You were on your way down, I presume?" Just as Draco had anticipated.

"Right you are, Narcissa! I'm expected, you see, for a trial in the Department of Mysteries." And she promptly walked past them, leaving the two Malfoys to exchange glances.

"She's got the locket." Draco whispered just as his mother fell in step with him. Narcissa didn't respond in kind, to show she had even heard, but Draco didn't need confirmation to know that she had. They reached the other two the very moment the grilles slid open.

A small, inaudible sigh of relief swept past Harry's lips upon finding the elevator empty, glad that there wouldn't be any witnesses.

They went in, him trying to ignore Umbridge's persistent gaze, but mostly trying to shut out the low, sibilant, hissing sounds that the locket was emitting like a broken record. He couldn't make anything out of its ramblings, too jumbled as they were, only that the other Horcrux was obviously excited. After Umbridge had called out Mrs. Malfoy's name, Harry was rooted to the spot by the spiking, second presence that seemed to tag along with his former Professor. Ironically enough, he had sensed the Horcrux's magic before he had actually heard the hisses. Just like with Voldemort, his magic had flared up, that blasted piece of the Dark Wizard's soul in him reaching out in recognition, eager to feel another like him.

…He felt sick with himself.

The only good thing that came out of it, was that Voldemort had fallen oddly quiet. No prickling in his scar, no tingling, and no foreign emotions squashing his. Actually, in the first time these past few days, his head felt his own for a change, like no one was taking a peek at his thoughts. The Dark Lord must have closed the connection so as not to disrupt him now that they finally had the locket in their hands.

…Well, almost.

"Have you had any word of the other Undesirables yet?" Narcissa's abrupt question snapped Harry out of his stupor and had him at full alert.

"I'm afraid no." So few words, and yet, a huge stone felt like it had been lifted from Harry's chest and he could breathe again. "They have all gone into hiding, but worry not, my dear. We're currently searching high and low. One of them is bound to make a mistake some time, and when that happens, we'll be there to make sure it is their final."

That's right. Harry had forgotten who they were dealing with here.

This was the woman that was anything but opposed to the use of Blood Quills on students, the woman that had thought up anti-werewolf laws that prohibited the werewolves from finding a paying job – the epitome of Lupin's misery. This was the woman that hadn't hesitated to wound McGonagall when she had tried to defend Hagrid from being hunted out of the school like some poisonous, monstrous animal.

'_She hurt everyone!' _Harry could feel his eyes narrowing, _'She used her blasted Quill on me numerous times, and she wasn't contented until I couldn't clench my fingers from the pain. And she hurt my friends, everyone that was remotely close to me was punished. She even used the Cruciatus on me!'_

The borrowed wand he was clutching within the folds of his robes, suddenly elicited tiny little sparks from its tip upon sensing his temper spike, and along with it, his magic.

"Say, Madam…"

All three pairs of eyes turned on him as one, but right now he only had a mind for those beady, orange ones that he had thought resembled a toad so many times last year.

"That pendant around your neck… is quite beautiful."

The woman didn't appear in the slightest perturbed that the boy not once had lifted his head to look at her. Instead, a wide grin crept upon her face, "Isn't it? It's actually a Selwyn family heirloom. They were my ancestors, you know, an ancient and powerful family they were." she said boisterously, as oblivious as ever to the growing danger.

"Oh? What if I told you it didn't belong to the Selwyn, but rather to Salazar Slytherin himself?"

"…What did you say?" Umbridge muttered baffled, eyebrows knitting together. Now that she though about it, hadn't this boy been less inclined to talk a few minutes ago?

The smirk that slowly quirked Harry's lips went unnoticed by her due to the yellow strands that were framing his face. That didn't mean it was missed by Harry's companions too. Draco looked over the other boy's head, staring straight into his mother's eyes and sending his puzzlement. But one look from Narcissa had him keeping his mouth shut. The message had been clear; this was Potter's task, and they were not to interfere.

"And what if I told you I can prove to you it belonged to one of the Founders of Hogwarts?"

Umbridge scowled openly. She opened her mouth to ask the boy to elaborate, when he took a few steps to the side, coming to stand a couple of inches away from her, with Narcissa's son trailing closely behind him. She raised both brows at this, but then, Cygnus finally lifted his head and she could swear that her heart ceased functioning for a few seconds or so.

Harry's vicious smirk widened, his eyes alight with a ferocious, untamed and merciless fire.

His gaze traveled downwards, feeling the Horcrux more alive than ever from such a close distance. The locket was twitching in place, yearning to get closer, yearning to reunite with another piece. And Harry would give it what it desired, but first… his brother needed to give something in return. _'She's made everyone suffer!"_

With that single thought running through his mind, Harry's lips parted. _"Ssstrangle her."_

Every occupant inside the elevator froze; even the very air around them appeared to become more tangible, heavy with the single command that slipped past his lips in slow, sibilant hisses. Then, with perfect synchronicity, as if they had practiced it, they all shuddered, one of them because she had never heard Parseltongue before, and the other two because their Lord's Parseltongue had never sounded so sensual and smooth.

The Horcrux that had stilled at the sound of the familiar language of the Serpents, now sprung into action, eager to do as his fellow shard wanted. Like a striking snake, it coiled itself around the woman's throat, urging its chain to whirl and whirl until there was no more room left between skin and gold.

Umbridge's hands flew instinctively to her neck, her windpipe forced to release whatever breath she had managed to gather and was slowly being crushed down.

And to Umbridge's further dismay, she watched through bulging eyes as those yellow locks started to change, turning darker by the second until they were a deep, midnight black. The eyes were next; their bright glow remained intact, only the color was altered. A pair of emerald eyes were staring at her, and with a choked cry that never manifested, her gaze shot upwards to the boy's forehead where a jagged, lightning bolt scar was starting to take shape.

"I told you that I could prove it you, didn't I?" Harry Potter peered at her from between the strands of his fringe, a wry laugh resonating from deep within his chest. "After all, I must tell no lies. Isn't that right, Professor?"

His fingers traveled to the back of his left palm, rubbing soothing circles over a darkened, scarred area. And as she watched his movements, his malicious smirk began to fall, leaving a sneer in its place. "What a remarkable coincidence, right? For you to having found the locket I've been looking for? I wonder if that's what they call divine justice?"

Umbridge thrashed and struggled, fingers trying to create some distance between her and the pendant that was choking her. As if sensing her attempts, the chain coiled tighter around her neck, now digging into the flesh of her fingers as well, making her open her mouth in a silent scream.

"I'm doing you a favor, you know." Harry said absently, watching her struggles with keen eyes. "This locket belongs to Voldemort. How do you think he'd have killed you? Certainly not with a quick Avada Kedavra. He'd have wanted to punish thoroughly the one that dared steal from him."

Umbridge's eyes that had gone wide at the mention of Voldemort's name, were now glazed over, and overflowing with tears that rolled down her swollen face.

The sight caught him unawares, and unprepared for the effect it seemed to have on him, he staggered backwards, colliding hard with Malfoy's chest.

…What was he saying?

Malfoy pushed him upright again, and he was forced to stare at the sick proceedings. He was doing her a favor by killing her? What rubbish was he spouting? But she had hurt so many people! Why did all the innocent ones get to suffer, while she remained unharmed?!

"…_Ssstop it." _he commanded softly. The Horcrux, however, didn't seem to hear him, caught up as it was in its killing intent.

"_I sssaid ssstop!"_ he shouted, so loud that the echo of his hisses kept echoing all around the closed space for several seconds.

The Horcrux stiffened, confused and disappointed, but it still obliged. Hesitantly, as if waiting for Harry to change his mind and tell it to continue from where it left off, it allowed the chain to unwind itself. The moment the pressure was gone from around her neck, Umbridge opened her mouth wide, taking deep and long inhales of precious air and gulping it down with gusto. With every breath she took, her face was starting to lose that bluish-pinkish hue.

Harry reached out and retracted the locket, which immediately pulsed upon contact, the gold turning warmer in his hand. The long chain wrapped itself around his thin wrist, securely but not tight enough to cut off his blood flow.

"Is this alright?" Malfoy asked softly, appearing at his side. They both stared at the gasping witch, her mere form disgusting Harry to no end.

The mechanic voice of the woman announced their arrival to their destination, and before Harry could come up with an answer, Narcissa had already retrieved the silver hairpin from the pockets of her robes. She entangled it delicately amidst her yellow locks before grabbing hold of Umbridge's shoulder while her other hand gripped Harry's forearm. Realizing that their Portkey was about to activate, he just about managed to glimpse at the opening grilles, before Malfoy took hold of his other arm and they were all whisked away.

One thought was flickering in and out of his mind, weighting him down with its truthfulness; _'Voldemort is going to throw a fit.'_

**END OF CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Wow! This chapter came out much different than I had expected.**

**To be frank, I had planned for Harry to actually kill Umbridge, but I think I prefer it this way.**

**It'll give Voldemort another reason to get mad at him!**

**Aww, I wonder what's gonna happen to our poor hero? ****:P**

**Oh, Oh! This is important! Could you please go to my profile and vote which HP fic should be up next? I'd really appreciate it. ^^ **


	9. Chapter 9

**Guys, I just wanted to say thank you for all your support thus far. You're the ones that keep me going! ^^**

**CHAPTER NINE**

To say that Harry was disoriented would be the understatement of the century. Dizzy as he was from the trip with the Portkey, the moment his feet hit solid ground again, he was grabbed from behind, whirled around till he stood with someone's arm around his throat, and his back against a chest – a woman's chest.

His face would have heated up if it wasn't for that disdainful voice that floated over to him from behind. "Gotcha, Potty."

"Oh, no." Harry grumbled, head craning to look at the woman behind him. "And here I thought you'd committed suicide or something."

Bellatrix flashed him a toothy grin, her onyx eyes glistening in a way that Harry was certain it came from spending several long years in Azkaban. "You would like that, wouldn't you, itty bitty Potter? Sorry to disappoint, darling."

Harry merely grunted in response.

He let his eyes wander over to the drawing room they had appeared. Recognition settling in, he glanced sideways and sure enough there the stairs were, leading all the way down to his guest room, or cell, as he had learnt to call it. The two Malfoys that had been accompanying him were currently in the process of heaving up a disgruntled Umbridge, whose face had fortunately regained its normal color, but her amber eyes were flickering this way and that, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Let go." Harry hissed at his captor, digging his blunt nails as far as they'd go into Bellatrix's flesh. They were alone for the time being, but he was certain that in a couple of minutes, the room would be swarming with the Death Eaters and their Master.

He wanted to be prepared for the confrontation with Voldemort.

"That's enough, Bella." Narcissa commanded softly, stepping away from a now upright Umbridge with an expression of unconcealed disgust. "Where do you think he's going to go?" she added offhandedly.

Draco hummed his agreement, dusting his robes off while giving Umbridge a sidelong once over, lips curling into a sneer at the mess he was met with. This woman no longer deserved respect. She was a lost case either way.

Bellatrix growled lowly, her displeasure pretty obvious in the way she pushed Harry away like he held some infectious disease.

The teen stumbled for a moment before he regained his footing, lifting a hand to rub at his protesting neck. Seriously, what was it with Bellatrix and her fetish of encircling her prey's throat? A screeching like sound distracted him, making him turn his gaze downwards to the object clutched in his palm. At least he had managed to retrieve the locket right before the glamours wore off. He really didn't want to think what Voldemort's reaction would be if he had come back empty handed.

…The man was already pissed off as it was.

He lifted his arm, letting the locket slip from his slightly sweaty fingers. As if on instinct, the chain tightened around his wrist, appearing eerily like a snake curling its coils, and Harry brought his arm closer so that the Horcrux was dangling right before his eyes. It was highly unnerving, the way it refused to sit still and was rather bouncing on the spot, moving round and round in tiny little circles.

Finding the dancing display just a tad sickening, Harry didn't stop to consider it twice before he muttered, _"Ssstop that."_

The locket ceased its vigorous movements so fast, that Harry was left blinking owlishly at its still form. Small, disgruntled noises began emanating from within the golden walls, that to Harry's further bewilderment, proved to be none other than the Horcrux's displeasure.

The raven haired teen huffed, giving the object an incredulous look. "Seriously? You're put off from that?"

"Perhaps it doesn't appreciate being manhandled." a voice whispered right next to his ear, and Harry, caught off guard, spun around so fast that his vision swam for a brief second, a yelp leaving his lips.

Scarlet eyes instantly bore into his own emerald, and he took a couple steps to the side, letting his eyes drag from the black form of the Dark Lord to the other dark clad bodies that had gathered in the background. How the usually boisterous Death Eaters, eager and keen to spread as much chaos as possible, could be so discreet at times, was seriously beyond him.

"Harry," Voldemort said, and the icy tone had said boy jerking his head up, glimpsing only briefly the man opening his mouth to address him, before his gaze was involuntarily drawn elsewhere at the loud thud that resonated throughout the room.

He, along with the rest of the occupants, stared at the slouched form of Umbridge, whose legs appeared to have given out at the sight of the Death Eaters, and of course, their esteemed Lord. Those horrendous orange eyes were round as plates, frozen and unblinking.

'_Yes,' _Harry thought wryly, _'the man tends to have that effect on people.' _And apparently, not even his supporters were spared.

A hand landed on his shoulder suddenly, ceasing all thoughts and making him grow stiff. He didn't need to look sideways to know that he'd find spider like digits resting on his shoulder blade.

"And who might this be?" No name was spoken to indicate the person the Dark Lord was addressing, but the twisting feeling in his gut was giving Harry a vague guess.

"…Dolores Umbridge?" he said tentatively, risking a glance at Voldemort's face simply because the question made absolutely no sense to him.

Yet, the man's gaze was straight ahead, taking sick pleasure in the horrified stupor Umbridge had fallen into and refusing to allow her to look away. But then, at Harry's response, those colorless lips quirked upwards just a tiny bit, something that caused the teen's stomach to lurch unpleasantly. "And for a moment I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Surely, this couldn't be the woman that had inflicted in you a killing intent so great that urged you to end her life only mere minutes ago?"

Voldemort's fingers were suddenly digging into his shoulder, painfully enough to leave an ugly bruise, and Harry's teeth grinded together in an inaudible hiss. He was whirled around forcefully, furious eyes engaging his in ruthless combat.

"Surely, I told myself, this couldn't be the woman you were in the process of killing only a while back?" The fingers' iron grip tightened even more, those sharp claw-like nails burying themselves into his skin and Harry's eyes widened in understanding when Voldemort's hellish orbs turned unforgiving.

He had known the man was going to throw a fit because he had let her live in the end, but he'd never thought Voldemort would be willing to take it so far.

A sickening crack bounced off the walls, cutting through the momentary silence like a whip, accompanied by a scream of pure agony.

The Dark Lord stepped backwards just as Harry fell unceremoniously to his knees, hand clawing at his shoulder where the tip of a white bone could be seen protruding slightly. His lips were parted in another scream, but this one was silent, and yet it contained every bit of the torment the teen had been plunged into.

Draco cringed, turning his gaze away from the sight.

Soon however, he was forced to jump to the side as Umbridge emptied the contents of her stomach on the spot he had been occupying only a second ago. An action that provoked the Dark Lord's ire, turning it away from Potter and right upon her.

A high pitched shriek was forced out of her the moment the Dark Lord's Cruciatus landed on her, its tremendous intensity making her body double over, thrashing wildly on the tiled floor with uncontrollable and jerky movements. His mother waved her wand in a perfect circle, instantly removing Umbridge's puke stains from the ground at the exact same time that the woman's screams reached new heights.

The shrill sound was hurting his ears, but he didn't dare let it alter his blank expression, and when thick fingers clasped themselves imploringly around his ankle, Draco merely sidestepped her grasp, not even sparing the shrieking woman a glance.

He wasn't going to interfere with another's punishment again, and definitely not for someone like Umbridge.

As if possessing a mind of their own, his eyes slid over to the slumped form of his former classmate, eyebrows pinching together ever so slightly at the inaudible sobs that were racking Potter's entire frame.

A movement next to the other boy caught his eye, and he could only watch with something akin to horror as the enraged Dark Lord swooped down and brought Potter up by his broken shoulder, ripping a strangled, tortured cry from the boy, before twisting him around, again using the already abused arm and causing Potter to go limp in his grip.

"Tell me," Voldemort hissed softly in Harry's ear, taking hold of the boy's chin and tilting his head upwards. "why did you let her live? Look at her now, the woman that's been the very bane of your existence for a whole year, and tell me you don't desire her dead. Tell me!"

And Harry did just that. He looked, looked at the sight of the woman that had put him through hell, the woman that had caused him and his friends great suffering, the woman that had abused him both physically and emotionally, and all he could feel was pity.

"…What good would killing her do?" he said hoarsely, softly, lest he anger the Dark Lord again and the man would jostle him some more. And he was feeling nauseous as it was.

"What good?" Voldemort repeated, tone disbelieving. "So that you can have your revenge, you foolish boy!"

Harry's mind was reeling. His body was shivering all over, and the excruciating pain that kept shooting up the arm Voldemort had in his grasp was making his shoulder explode with agony. If he the man didn't let go soon, Harry didn't know how long he'd be able to stay conscious. Black spots were already dancing over his vision, clouding his sight for a moment before slowly fading away only for the process to start all over again.

He didn't know what made him utter the next words; maybe he had just wanted to make Voldemort release him…

"Death is a merciful escape. It wouldn't mean anything against all the harm she has caused." he said, voice just barely above a whisper, and yet he was certain every single soul in the room had heard him. More tears welled up in his eyes, but these had no affiliation with the throbbing in his shoulder, nor with the nausea that the pain was stirring in his stomach.

…or maybe, he had just voiced the very thoughts and schemes he had been harboring for the woman ever since last year.

Voldemort stilled, his grip going slack and finally giving Harry the respite he was craving. A chuckle, low and appreciative, vibrated from deep within the Dark Lord's chest and the fingers that had been holding his chin upwards relented at last, relocating to his cheek. A single, cold forefinger slid up and down his flesh slowly, tantalizingly, and wickedly gentle.

Harry tore his head to the other side as if electrocuted, cheeks burning with humiliation.

Emerald eyes narrowed angrily, sending a sidelong glare at Voldemort's direction. "I'm not some pet to strike when you get mad, and then coddle when you're pleased."

Bellatrix's outraged scream overpower the pained, and now hoarse ones, that Umbridge was emitting. In a few quick strides, she had Harry by the wrist, pulling him forward so harshly that his injured shoulder was jerked violently. The cry that would have left his lips was overlapped by the bile that rose quickly to his throat. But Bellatrix was relentless.

Uncaring to his torment, she yanked him again by his good arm, her fingers like steel around his wrist. "You insolent little brat! How dare you?! How dare you speak to the Dark Lord in such a fashion?!"

"Release me," Harry muttered weakly, his legs wobbling from the strain of keeping himself upright.

"You little piece of trash!" Bellatrix bellowed, tugging and tugging at his arm, and jostling his entire body in the process. She pulled out her wand, her fury blinding her to her actions. She was following her instinct, wanting to make the boy pay for his insolence.

Harry's stomach lurched, twisting and knotting over and over again. His vision was mostly black by now, the dark spots stubbornly refusing to leave, lingering for longer periods of time that didn't seem to end. His knees had buckled two times already before he managed to regain control over them, and he had a feeling that next time he wouldn't be so lucky.

"LET GO!" he screamed, eyes jerking up to lock with Bellatrix's jet black ones. The woman's eyes had only a moment to grow a fraction, before she was roughly tossed backwards and away from Harry.

The teen was panting heavily, taking in deep gulps of air that didn't seem sufficient. The Horcrux's chain was now cutting into his skin from the force it was clinging around his wrist, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire.

His eyes grew half-lidded as his knees finally lost whatever remaining strength they had in them. On his way down though, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his abdomen and torso, heaving him up and standing again. It took a moment for Harry to realize why he wasn't feeling any pain from his body's collision with the floor, and longer even to blink his eyes open. His sight was blurry still, but at least the world wasn't spinning anymore.

"Bella," Voldemort's voice echoed from behind him, low and dangerously sweet, "you were severely punished for your incompetence at Hogwarts. How disappointing that you've yet to learn from your mistakes."

Bellatrix, from her position on the floor a good few feet away, let out a choked whimper, large tears leaving her eyes at the harsh words of her master, words that promised more pain on her part.

Voldemort shook his head, the action condemning at itself. The woman was growing hastier and less thorough, and he had no need for tools that kept failing him. These days, she only seemed capable of testing his patience; and he had very little to begin with.

"I shall deal with you later, Bellatrix." He jerked his head sharply, and the woman crouched low, touching her forehead to the ground in a deep bow before scrambling back to her feet and hurrying to join the black crowd behind him.

His narrowed pupils centered on the quivering mess only meters away, disgust crawling its way to his face the longer he looked at her.

"Lucius," he called out, not awaiting a response, "escort our guest to the meeting room. The rest of you may disperse. We shall proceed from where we left off after Mr. Potter here is in a fit state to attend. After all…" the corners of his mouth tilted upwards, "the fun has just begun."

And with that, he gave Harry's cracked shoulder blade a squeeze, just once, but it was more than enough. Almost instantly, the boy's emerald eyes rolled back into his head. His eyelids fluttered closed shortly after, his head lolling back against Voldemort's shoulder before he went completely limp in Voldemort's arms.

In a state that suspended somewhere in the middle of consciousness and unconsciousness, Harry only faintly noted the sensation of arms tightening around him almost possessively.

"I'm not yet through with you, my little Horcrux." The voice was nothing but a whisper in his ear, its echo accompanying Harry all the way into oblivion.

***)&(***

It appeared that reuniting with the world of the living and promptly being tempted to leave again due to the pain shooting up his entire body was quickly turning into a disturbing habit.

His eyes shot open as a particularly painful jolt racked his entire frame, and his hand immediately reached out to grasp the place it had originated from, only now spotting the white bandages that peeked from under the neck line of his t-shirt. Which, also made him realize that whoever had treated him had also changed back his clothes. Not that he wasn't grateful for getting rid of the lavish robes, but his was more concerned with the bandages' presence.

Black eyebrows drew together.

He dragged his gaze from his shoulder and down to his arm, both brows shooting upwards to meet his hairline at the sight of the sling that his arm had been placed in.

Another throb had his hand's grip clenching unconsciously, which he instantly regretted as his shoulder protested vehemently in return.

"Are you quite finished?"

Emerald eyes jerked away from his body, a loud groan spilling past his lips once they came to rest upon the unmoving, dark figure that stood near the iron bars of the cell.

Apparently satisfied with the answer, Snape took a single step forward, piercing Harry with one of his infamous glares. "It would seem you've made it your life's purpose to empty my personal stock of potions, Potter."

Somehow, Harry was able to pluck up the required energy for a glare of his own. "And of course, you didn't deem it necessary to provide me with a Pain Reliever as well."

"The Dark Lord's orders were specific; your injury was to be treated, but your discomfort wasn't to meet the same fate."

Harry had to grind his teeth together to keep in the colorful string of swear words that wanted to burst forth. How utterly typical of the man. It didn't matter in the slightest that he was the one that had broken Harry's bone because, in that twisted mind of his, it wasn't punishment enough.

"We don't have all day, Potter."

The curt drawl was efficient enough to snap Harry's train of though in half, making him blink. "What's that supposed to mean?" He had absolutely no idea why he had asked that, seeing as he really didn't want to find out the answer.

"Our Lord requires your presence."

Damn, he was right with not wanting to know. "You mean _your_ Lord requires my presence so that he can deliver more punishment, befitting for my wrongdoings."

The dark sarcasm of his tone was purposely ignored. "Pleasing to know you're aware of your misdeeds." And without sparing another glance, the man whipped around, walking back towards the railed door, which was flung open with a flick of Snape's wand.

Harry growled under his breath, letting go of his injured shoulder to put his good arm into use and haul himself from the floor. He bristled, eyes closing for a brief second as his still mending bone was jostled with the movement. Once he was upright, he took a moment to rest his back against the stone pillar behind him, breathing heavily through his teeth. It was ridiculous how much effort he had to put into such a simple and mundane action like keep himself standing.

Tired eyes swept over the wide dungeon he was kept in, using whatever light the torches provided to search for any specks of white. He found none, and he shook his head at his vain hope that Hedwig would have been returned to him. But of course not.

Voldemort would probably have him beg for such a favor.

Seething at the mere thought, Harry pushed away from his resting spot and made his way towards the cell's only other occupant.

Snape was holding the door open for him, the mockery in the action so glaringly obvious that had Harry stubbornly refusing to look anywhere near the loathsome man's face as he went past him and straight for the staircase up ahead.

By the time he reached the drawing room again, Harry was left panting like he had run a marathon. His ribcage was burning up, and his shoulder was absolutely killing him.

He gave no heed to Snape when the man brushed past him, and instead kept himself busy with regaining his breath.

Once he had reclaimed any semblance of control, the teen took in one last gulp of air, before walking over to the impatient wizard that had paused by the entrance to the meeting room. Glancing away when he was certain that Harry was properly positioned next to him, he raised his knuckles to the double doors, but seconds before they came in contact, the heavy, mahogany doors leisurely slip open.

The moment they opened a crack, Harry's ears were bombarded with high pitched cries. At fist, he thought that Umbridge was being tortured again, but that thought was quickly discarded when he noted the quality difference in the shrieks. These didn't sound like a pig's the moment it realized it was going to be slaughtered.

None the less, the plain agony that was quite distinct in them, had Harry involuntarily flinching back.

Snape – not bothered in the slightest by the gut-wrenching sounds – took the teen's good forearm in his grasp and sauntered inside, the doors closing as inaudibly as they had opened.

The long, wooden table that had been occupying nearly the whole room was now absent, leaving quite a space to roam. The chairs had also vanished along with it. Only the fireplace appeared to have remained behind, which had a fire blazing wildly in the hearth. Torches had also been lit to provide the room with adequate light, a fact that had Harry's eyes jerking to the two massive, ceiling-to-floor length windows, realizing that even though it was still noon the moment they had arrived from the Ministry, it was now nighttime.

Any further musings on the matter, however, were cut short when the dark mass of Death Eaters that had been blocking his view of the front of the room, began moving aside, black cloaks brushing against his knees and feet as Snape dragged him forwards before all of the bodies had made way for them.

Despite the sore state and aches of his body, Harry managed to rip his arm out of the man's grip, his distaste for being manhandled never lessening.

Snape halted for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to favor Harry with one of his sneers before sharply picking up his pace and expecting Harry to follow.

Which the boy did, but with far slower movements than his former teacher, all the while making sure to keep his eyes from straying to the dark clad bodies on either side of him.

Finally reaching their destination, Harry had to blink twice to reassure himself that he wasn't hallucinating, and that yes, this was in fact Bellatrix Lestrange that was writhing wildly on the ground before him. Black curls formed a deranged halo around her head, equally dark eyes wide and unblinking as they stayed nailed to the ceiling, her limbs bending in all abnormal angles as her body thrashed around. Loud, ear splitting screams were leaving her lips nonstop.

The sight, horrifying as it was, made Harry strangely mesmerized.

Seeing the usually strong, unyielding woman so openly vulnerable and broken, caused an immense satisfaction to stir in the pit of his stomach.

And suddenly, as if sensing the course of his thoughts, the link between his mind and Voldemort's opened up, overloading his whole body with such heated sensations that his knees nearly gave away. He could feel a flush creeping up his neck, and to his further dismay, he could feel his breathing turning ragged and uneven. On impulse, he looked up, and even though the Dark Lord's wand was trained on Bellatrix, his crimson orbs were glued to Harry's face, taking in every pant, every heated expression, and most importantly, the way those emerald eyes seemed to glaze over.

And the look in the wizard's scarlet eyes, suddenly so hungry and _dark_, had Harry burying his teeth into his lip, desperate to keep under control the moan that threatened to escape him.

…What the heck was happening?

Other times he had felt the man's intense emotions of deep satisfaction and triumph, but they were always unrequited. Never before had they affected him to such an extent. So, what had changed now? Was it possible that this time they had been fueled by his own feelings of exhilaration at watching the woman that had killed his godfather being tortured? Because, at this very moment, both their emotions were in perfect sync?

Harry wasn't certain that he wanted to learn the answer to those particular questions.

With much more effort than he thought possible, he forced himself to tear away from the trance that those blood-red eyes seemed to have put him in, ignoring the wry amusement that washed over him from the other end of the connection.

Long, white fingers guided an equally pale wand into a swift, graceful arc that captured Harry's attention for a long moment, making the teen question the presence of the yew wand he was too acquainted with. The last time he had seen Voldemort perform magic, he had been wielding the brown one; the so called Elder Wand. But then, Bellatrix's body arched right off the floor, shattering Harry's pondering with the way her back bent like a bow, as if the Curse caused her the same suffering when it was lifted as it had while being applied.

The Dark Lord raised his head, scarlet eyes scanning the gathered crowd before calling out, "Rodolphus."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin the moment a black blur hurried past him, coming to a stop before Voldemort and falling down on one knee. "My Lord," the dark haired man acknowledged, head hanging low.

"Escort your beloved wife to her quarters, and for her sake alone, she better be properly disciplined the next time she presents herself before me."

But of course! Harry felt like berating himself. This was Rodolphus _Lestrange_, Bellatrix's husband. Dark brown hair that reached his nape, with a few stray, short curls at either side of his face, and deep, equally dark penetrating eyes; his face had been in wanted posters all over Hogsmeade only a year ago, amongst others notorious Death Eaters that had broken out of Azkaban. He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him sooner. Along with his wife and brother, he had taken part in the torture of Neville's parents.

"I will personally make certain, my Lord." Rodolphus replied evenly, bowing his head one last time before rising back to his feet. This was supposed to be one of the Dark Lord's favorites, and yet he appeared a little more than reluctant to look anywhere near Voldemort's form.

What if the man was lying? Complying with his Master's wishes just so he would be spared but never actually carrying out that order. And Voldemort would be none the wiser simply because he hadn't been able to use Legilimency. Actually, since none of his minions ever looked him in the eye, how could he be so certain they weren't deceiving him? Plotting his secret demise or something like that?

Not that Harry had any objections with that last bit.

A low, deep rumbling sound echoed through the otherwise silent room, halting Rodolphus in the process of turning around. Harry's eyes snapped upwards, following the noise to its source and finding himself growing wary at the realization that it was none other than the Dark Lord himself. The Death Eaters must have concluded as much, every single head turning apprehensive in the direction of their Lord.

Another chuckle, void and cold, had Harry cringing back. The sound was just too inhuman.

"Mr. Potter here has a rather intriguing question." Voldemort announced to the room, his evident mirth only serving to make every single one of his followers grow stiff.

"Why do you not lie to me?" His arms opened wide, addressing all of them at once.

Harry glanced at the black robed figures out of the corner of his eye, noticing the subtle, yet prominent way their shoulders seemed to unwind. It was almost as if they were relieved!

As predicted, no one stepped up to offer an answer, but rather than appearing disappointed, Voldemort's lips quirked into a haughty, pleased smirk. "I do not need the art of Legilimency to detect a lie, Harry. I assure you, they are aware that should they _ever _make me question their true devotion, it shall be the last thing they'll ever do."

For some reason, that sent shivers down Harry's spine.

Nodding approvingly at his comprehension, Voldemort then turned steel eyes towards the man standing beside Harry. "Isn't that right, Severu_sss_?"

Emerald eyes glanced at the brooding form of the Potions Master, craving to witness some sort of discomfort on the usually stoic man's features, but he was sorely disappointed when all the wizard did was to incline his head, coal black eyes not once looking away from vivid red. "Of course, my Lord."

Harry scowled. He didn't understand what was going on. Voldemort had possession of all of his memories ever since the attack at Hogwarts, having glimpsed every single one of them when he tore through Harry's mind in search of validation for the shard of himself that resided in the boy. Which meant he knew that Snape had been acting as a servant for two masters, working as a double agent for both sides.

Sure, when it had come down to it, he had chosen the Dark Side.

When Voldemort had pointed his wand at Dumbledore and then proceeded to outright kill him so that he could have full claim on the Elder Wand, Snape had watched idly in the sidelines, not batting an eye at the scene unfolding before him. In Harry's view, the man as good as murdered the Headmaster himself.

But still, at some point, he had provided their side with crucial information concerning the Dark Lord's schemes and intentions. So, why wasn't he being punished?!

A part of Harry seethed, absolutely furious that Snape would remain unscathed even after everything the man had done.

'_You're more lenient than I thought.'_ The thought was out before he could stifle it. Moreover, he found himself staring right into Voldemort's eyes, unable to conceal any of his rage and anger that he was slowly being submerged in.

But instead of keeling over in absolute agony, as per expected, Harry was left perfectly frozen when all Voldemort did was observe him through cold, unconcerned eyes.

"_I only punisssh thossse that merit it." _

Some faraway part of Harry's brain only barely registered the use of Parseltongue, while the rest simply spiraled into a state of shock.

He couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"_And I did?"_ Being addressed in the language of the serpents, Harry's mind automatically found it natural to respond in kind, blind to everything and everyone around him. Those words had cut deep, way too deep for Harry's liking.

In such few and simple words, Voldemort had made it clear that Snape was considerably worthier in his eyes. Even after his obvious betrayal, the Dark Lord hadn't harmed or maimed his esteemed Potions Master, while on the other hand, he hadn't hesitated to inflict both mental and physical pain upon Harry, again and again. And the plain injustice behind that implication was quite a blow.

All previous anger and frustration simply seemed to seep out of his body when he exhaled; releasing a breath he had been unconsciously holding.

The realization that yet again Snape wouldn't pay for any of his wrongdoings, spread a strangely numbing sensation throughout Harry's whole body. Why was it that people that caused such great suffering always got to walk away with it?

Voldemort, obviously disinterested in warranting his question with a proper answer, turned back to a stiff Rodolphus, sharply reminding him of the order he had been given.

Head lowering into a respective bow, the man cast a Featherweight Charm upon the unconscious form of his wife before sweeping out of the room with no further hassle.

"Now," Voldemort began, reclaiming everyone's attention, "while still on the matter of devotions, I must say I'm quite displeased with your initiatives, Narcissa."

The blonde witch straightened her back, ignoring the looks she was instantly subjected to. "My Lord?"

Voldemort took a few calculated steps in her direction. "Your role in the task I set upon Potter had been made perfectly clear. Even you yourself acknowledged the very fact that I had kept certain details from being disclosed, and yet…you went out of your way to enlighten him, no matter how discreet your methods were."

There was a momentary pause as the Dark Lord appeared to contemplate.

"Tell me, Narcissa…what urged you to act with such disregard of my orders?"

Next to her, she had sensed her son going absolutely petrified long ago, the very moment in fact that he had realized the source of their Lord's accusations. But she prided herself in permitting none of her agitated emotions show on her face.

"Because of the trouble the boy had gone though to attain that specific piece of information, my Lord." She wasn't going to offer some spineless and much needless apology like the rest of his servants were keen on doing so every time their performance hadn't been up to par with their Lord's expectations. So, she gave him exactly what he desired, nothing less and nothing more; an explanation. "I'm aware of the severity of my actions, and willing to follow through with the consequences."

Of course, the Dark Lord hadn't expected her to lie her way through, and she felt a silver of pride at the appreciative way he was regarding her. But she also knew it wasn't something that'd hinder him from punishing her for her failure.

"Defiance of such kind is not something I welcome, Narcissa, and you very well know that." His tone was foreboding to everyone's ears, and his appreciation on the matter was open for them to see in his heavily lidded eyes. "It saddens me greatly that you opted to deliberately neglect that fact."

She could feel the gaze of her husband boring into the side of her head, inquisitive and concerned. Her head lowered in a display of regret and shame. "It hadn't been my intention to force your hand, my Lord."

And she meant it.

Amongst the very few that the Dark Lord valued their opinions and views, the Malfoys were certainly one of them. Their reputation as the Dark Lord's confidants was woven deeply ever since the Death Eaters' very foundation. Abraxas, Lucius' father, had been at the time the right hand man of their Lord, having been his faithful and loyal companion from their years at Hogwarts. A position that was later on claimed by his son, and with good reason.

Lucius held the Dark Lord in the highest of regards, recognized the man's brilliance in his ideas for the future of their world. He had proven his loyalties on countless occasions, and that had been his saving grace when the diary fiasco had come to light.

Lucius' had been gambling on sheer luck alone, hopeful that through the Weasley girl their Lord's diary would eventually end up in the hands of Harry Potter, the one person that was responsible for the Dark's fall.

Apparently, he had been _too _hopeful.

But be that as it may, the Dark Lord – once fully restored – had displayed a rare moment of mercifulness and spared her husband's life. He was punished for losing such a valuable item of powerful magic, of course, but his place by their Lord's side hadn't suffered as much as his pride.

It was a lesson that Draco and her had learnt quite some time ago; failing their Lord was equivalent to failing Lucius.

A dull, soft thud suddenly echoed in the room, travelling through the momentary silence like a dagger slicing through flesh. Every single member of the Inner Circle, turned slowly to the source of the distraction, staring with open bewilderment at Harry Potter who was now seated on the floor, at the foot of the single high backed chair that stood before the fireplace.

The boy stopped mid-movement of rubbing soothing circles over his shoulder, bright emerald eyes staring back with something akin to confusion.

"What?" he asked defensively, looking straight towards the Dark Lord's malicious expression. "Since you were so adamant for my attendance, I didn't get around to have a much needed rest, 'cause – just in case you've forgotten – I'm down to one arm thanks to you. Do you have the slightest idea how painful the progress of re-growing your bones is? Well, I have, which is why Madame Pomfrey had given me quite a powerful dose of Pain Reliever potion and had me spend the night in the Hospital Wing because something could go seriously wrong with the process. One of my worst nights ever."

By the time Potter was finished with his little monologue, every single Death Eater that had been stunned into silence, turned as one towards their Lord, shocked to find the smallest traces of amusement in those hellish eyes.

But of course, Potter was nowhere near done, it seemed.

"And anyways," he continued, poking experimentally at his fractured shoulder and quickly letting out a faint hiss, "we both know you're just mad that my threat had some actual merit. Mrs. Malfoy's disobedience, as you called it, is only an excuse."

And all that, was said without once looking up at the Dark Lord.

Ignorant to the audacity of his words, Harry only bothered to glance upwards when the prolonged silence seemed to stretch on, blinking at the stricken faces that met him.

A humorless, high laugh had emerald eyes snapping to the very center of the room, frowning when the laugh ended just as abruptly. "Threaten me? Did you honestly believe that it'd have troubled me in the slightest if you had carried out that scheme? My dear Harry, don't delude yourself into thinking that I won't have a use for you in the upcoming war. I'm merely awaiting for the most opportune moment to do so."

Crimson eyes suddenly narrowed down to mere slits, and Harry, caught off guard by the unexpected spike of anger, couldn't fail to wince, "However, the next time you attempt to pull a stunt like that again, I can promise you that it won't be just your shoulder breaking. As long as the damage is redeemable, the possibilities are limitless."

Harry didn't doubt for a millisecond that Voldemort would have any qualms with fulfilling that promise.

A trembling breath was released through his teeth, before he could gather enough strength to speak, "I did as you asked. You promised that Hedwig would be returned safe to me if I returned the locket to you." His eyes were fierce when he looked up at Voldemort again, vanishing to the back recesses of his mind the prominent threat that the man had left hanging over his head.

The man's pale lips quirked. "Calm yourself, child. The Dark Lord always stays true to his word."

With no more words needing to be said, Voldemort raised the skeletal wand above his head, waving it in a perfect round motion without uttering a single incantation. As if already sensing the result of his spell work, red eyes shifted over to the doors.

In those few seconds, Harry's eyes connected briefly with Narcissa's, and he flashed her a small smirk, hoping that it didn't come out as shaky as he felt it.

The witch's gray-blue eyes grew for a fraction of a second, reading the implication behind that gesture with no little disbelief.

_Crisis averted._

But she could also see it for what it was; compensation for the information she had provided him with.

His friends were apparently worth putting himself at risk of losing another bone, if the boy felt compelled to return her favor.

She shook her head lightly, no small amounts of relief washing throughout her body. Honestly, she couldn't determine whether the nature of his preposterous little plan was foolishly Gryffindor-ish, or screaming with Slytherin cunning.

Well, who would have thought? There was still hope for Dumbledore's Golden Boy.

The Dark Lord must have thought so as well, for him to let it slide so easily. Because she was no fool to think that the man hadn't got the gist of it.

"_If I were you, Harry, I wouldn't feel ssso sssmug about that accomplissshment." _Voldemort commented without so much as glancing Harry's way. _"You might want to try a tad more sssubtle the next time, but I mussst commend you on your firssst try at manipulation."_

And if she judged by the look on the boy's face, she'd hazard a guess and say that the Dark Lord had just made Potter aware of that little detail.

Lucius and Draco both shot her brief, bewildered looks at the chuckle that she failed to conceal.

Just then, the heavy, wooden doors banged open with a mighty whoosh, their loud impact with the walls reverberating for several long seconds in the vast space of the room. No sooner had they opened though, and a glittering object came flying in, soaring with alarming speed above the heads of the gathered Death Eaters – forcing several of them to duck to avoid a most painful collision – and crushed right into a startled Harry's chest the very moment the raven haired teen rose to his feet.

Out of pure reflex, Harry's good arm came to wrap around the object, even as he closed his eyes in preparation of passing out from the assault of pain that'd definitely follow such impact.

But instead of raw, mind-shattering agony, an irked hoot caused his eyes to snap open. The realization that Hedwig's cage weighted nothing at all in his arms, paled in comparison to the realization that Voldemort had really given him his owl back.

A bit on the disheveled side, but other than that, the snowy creature appeared fine.

"Hey, girl." he muttered softly, aware of Hedwig's already agitated nerves, and slid two fingers through the bars, smoothing out the ruffled feathers of her neck. She allowed it for a while, her brilliant golden eyes becoming hooded at the soothing sensation. But just like that, she seemed to remember that she was supposed to be mad at him and promptly snapped out of her little trance.

With an undignified hoot, she angled her neck so she could nip at the finger closest to her beak.

She must have applied more pressure than necessary, because a strained hiss slipped past Harry's lips, but he still didn't withdraw his hand, understanding her frustration better than anyone. After their stays with the Dursleys, she had grown to despise being in a cage for prolonged periods of time, unless it was crucial.

"It's alright." he whispered, unable to withhold a smile when she started rubbing her feathered head all over his bleeding finger, her way of apologizing. "Sorry for leaving you all alone with the big, bad man. It wasn't too scarring, was it?"

Hedwig puffed out her chest, golden eyes growing wider. "I know," Harry laughed softly, "you're too tough for that, right?"

A shadow fell over them both, forcing its ominous presence upon Harry. He didn't need the owl's disgruntled clanking of her beak to guess about the person's identity. His pulse had begun a wild, frenzied tempo the moment the dark aura drew closer to his body, encircling it slowly.

He swallowed slowly, with effort. Perhaps he had gone a little bit too far with his comments.

Tentatively, he tilted his head up, dragging his gaze to meet Voldemort's…and instantly wished he hadn't. The man's face was as unreadable as ever, hollow of any obvious emotion. A real pity that the same couldn't be said about his eyes. Thunderous scarlet bore into his, the little black flecks in them more apparent than ever, turning the usually bright pair a shade darker.

It wasn't a change that Harry welcomed with open arms.

"Pardon the interruption," Voldemort's lips curled in disdain, "but I didn't summon you here to dawdle about. There's much work to be done."

"W-" Harry cleared his throat. "Work?" Why didn't he like the sound of that?

Voldemort peered down at him in silence for a couple of seconds, before he bent his back, bringing his face only inches away from Harry's, who in return sucked in a quick breath. "You see, after much speculation, I concluded that Horcruxes can't guarantee the safety of the soul pieces inside them. Your little outing with Dumbledore proved it. The more time spend away from the shards of my soul, the less aware I become of them and their existence."

Here the corners of his mouth stretched into a smile that could only be described as shrewd. "That's why I plan to reacquaint myself with them. But since the process of restoring one's soul is extremely strenuous and painful – it could even be fatal and end up killing me – I will have to make sure that nothing of the sort happens."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, losing Voldemort's train of thought somewhere in the middle…or was it closer to the start?

"Right, of course. And what does that have to do with me again?"

The Dark Lord chuckled, the action sending puffs of hot breath on Harry's face. His neck was also beginning to cramp from the position he was keeping it in.

Probably getting a glimpse of his inward musings, Voldemort brought a hand up, entangling his fingers within midnight-black strands, gripping Harry's hair strongly enough to ensure that he didn't draw his head away.

"Most unfortunately, I won't be removing the piece of my soul imbedded in you. I'm afraid you'll be sharing every ounce of absolute torture that I will be experiencing."

Harry could have sworn that his heart stopped beating for a full second, his pulse loud and clear even to his own ears. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be.

"Why?" he managed to breathe out, chest heaving.

Voldemort made little shushing noises as he lowered his head enough to rub his cheek against Harry's, an action that only had the teen shaking like a leaf, filled to the brim with a sense of foreboding. "I need to maintain the connection we share for my plan to be successful."

"W-what plan?" He knew that his voice was wavering, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Voldemort's hot breath moved over to his ear, cold lips so close that he could feel them parting as the man spoke, "Tell me, what do you know about the Deathly Hallows, my dear?"

Harry's entire body seized up, thoughts spiraling into a jumbled mess as his mind hurried to provide him with the memory of a few days prior, when Voldemort had asked him exactly the same question.

It was then that Harry came to realize two things.

One; he had been wrong. Voldemort wasn't the Master of Death as he had feared.

And two; Voldemort wasn't the Master of Death…yet.

"You want to become truly immortal." Wide, emerald eyes could only stare upwards at the ceiling in terrified stupor. The Dark Lord's lips moved against his ear, this time to morph into a wide, insane smirk that Harry was thankful he couldn't see.

"Bravo, my little one."

**END OF CHAPTER NINE**

**Another chapter is done, folks!**

**So, so? What do you think?**

**And lots of thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! You really brighten my day! ^^ **


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Harry yelled, screamed and shouted with all the strength that his lungs possessed, but in vain. The protective barrier that Voldemort had erected around him was leaving little to no space for him to move, and combined with the Silencing Charm that had been seeped into it, none of the fuss he was making was heard by no one other than himself.

"No!" he yelled furiously, banging his good wrist against the transparent barrier that surrounded him. Hot, sharp little needles buried themselves into his shoulder as it was roughly jostled along, making him grit his teeth tightly.

He fell back against the wall behind him with a mighty huff, ignoring the looks he was receiving from the rest of the room's occupants.

Sharp, emerald eyes stared ahead, observing the Dark Lord as he drew a triangular pattern on the floor, noting the fluent arcs and bends the white wand performed while navigating the chalk this way and that. It was quite disturbing, actually. The man's servants were probably of the same opinion, seeing as none of them so much as dared breathe the wrong way and distract their Master.

Harry snorted, head turning the other way to check Hedwig's condition. His only consolation was that Voldemort had thrown his owl inside his confines too. At least, this way, he could be free of one worry.

Slender fingers rose to the silver cage beside him, bypassing the thin bars and stroking the unblemished, snowy feathers, needing this reassurance – for both his owl, and himself – and just like all previous occurrences, his smart, brilliant Hedwig understood his silence better than words.

She allowed him this comfort, her beak rubbing affectionately against his finger, unselfish just this once – seeking to give rather than take.

A smile, bitter and rueful, slowly crept onto the teen's face, not blind to the ever mocking fact how swiftly the situation would be altering soon.

And he felt like he was drowning, powerless and helpless to the fate that'd befall him, a mere spectator to this engraving turn that the events had taken. And as the quiet kept unfolding and spreading, Harry could only wait – dreadful and spiteful – for the arrival of the storm, and the newborn world of anguish and pain that'd be associated with it.

The double doors opened slowly – as if tentatively, in fear of evoking the undesired kind of reaction – and Harry, for the first and probably last time in his life, couldn't gather the usual contempt and loathing that would normally rise within him at the sight of Peter Pettigrew's cowering form.

The rat animagus walked hesitantly into the room, his shoulders hunched and his beady little eyes flickering about wildly, pupils blown with poor concealed terror the moment they settled on the regal, black form of his Lord, watching the wizard's agile and elegant movements with rapt attention, entranced by the raw anticipation and excitement that was rolling off the man in suffocating waves.

The Dark Lord's magic was practically singing, intoxicated by the mere prospect of what was about to come.

Then, with a vigorous shaking of the head, Wormtail proceeded towards his Master, and Harry's eyes were immediately flying to the battered figure that was suspended in midair, trailing obediently behind the trembling wizard.

It'd appear that, despite her gruesome rendezvous with the Dark Lord's acid Cruciatus, Dolores Umbridge was relatively unharmed.

Unconscious, for the time being, but unharmed.

…And Harry couldn't settle between relief or plain disappointment at this unquenchable revelation.

After all that extravagant show earlier – after unceremoniously snapping Harry's shoulder bone, simply because he wanted to communicate his disappointment for the boy's failed attempt to take a life – one would have thought that the woman responsible for all this trouble, would be nothing but a bitter, scornful memory by now.

But Harry came to the abrupt conclusion that it didn't matter, because her presence here, the very moment that the Dark Lord was making preparations for the ritual that would validate his immortality, could be no simple coincidence.

His eyes strayed over to Voldemort, watching with guarded suspicion as the man deigned their newcomers worthy of his focus, and couldn't help the fleeting thought that maybe, the ultimatum of the storm had finally caught up to them.

***)&(***

Everything was perfect.

There was nothing that Lord Voldemort loved more, than his own plans coming to absolute fruition, baring their ripe nectar and juices that was all his for the taking.

He could admit it to himself now, that even as he had stood at the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts – that brilliant and astounding foundation of four most remarkable people – that he had been harboring doubts. Ill summoned doubts, as it would seem, for the results that his long, drawn-out scheming would bring.

He had been mulling over the course his next actions should take for quite some time, not oblivious to the many, grave loopholes that could thwart his plans for sure.

What if Severus' information wasn't valid? What if the boy wasn't the vessel of a precious part of his soul?

Everything would have been for naught if this was to be true.

It had taken him longer than he wanted, than he could afford, to digest the mere fact that the boy he had been seeking to extinguish, should now be brought under his protection and his ever watchful eye.

He held no illusions of the measures the boy would go to should he learn the truth before Lord Voldemort needed him to.

No…he knew for certain that the child wouldn't hesitate for a second to take his own life if it'd benefit those dear to him. _For the greater good,_ as Dumbledore had made sure to drill into his loyal pupil's head.

But Lord Voldemort had no intention to allow a part of himself, now matter how small, to go to waste.

The infiltration of Hogwarts castle had gone much smoother than he imagined.

And as a result, he had walked away not only with his archenemy dead and the boy savior in his grasp, but moreover, with the last two pieces of the puzzle he was building; the remaining two of the Deathly Hallows.

It had perplexed him greatly how oblivious and ignorant Albus Dumbledore had grown. Perhaps his old age had finally started to catch up to him.

Because, surely, the recklessness that came with senility was the only possible explanation for such a foolish and daring act as to try the Peverells' heirloom, the very heirloom that Voldemort himself had enhanced with layers upon layers of the strongest Curses there were.

Senile as he might was, Dumbledore had never been one to carelessly walk into a situation without uncurling every single possibility first.

…Something else must have spurred Dumbledore to act so impossibly bold.

Ignorance had never been something he tolerated, not as a child, and most definitely not as an adult. With seeds of doubts rooting into his mind, he had begun an investigation about Cadmus Peverell and the only memorable enough heirloom that had been passed down to his descendants.

When months later the truth was revealed to him, he had nearly brought the Malfoy Manor down to smithereens.

How could he, the greatest Dark Lord of all time, have acted so foolishly?! How could he overlook so carelessly the most ancient of legends?

But the most infuriating was that all these years he had not one, but two, of the legendary Hallows and had failed to keep possession of them! But no matter, no matter. This had only urged him to take action before it was too late.

And so he had.

It was only too convenient that Ignotus Peverell's last, living descendant was the very same vessel that was hosting a shard of himself. All he had to do was ensure that the Horcrux inside Potter remained there indefinitely, and then there'd be no restrictions preventing him from claiming ownership over the Cloak of Invisibility.

The Hallow would have no objection in the claim since some part of him was, technically, already accepted and viewed as an extension of Harry Potter's own soul.

His internal musings were abruptly cut short the moment Wormtail arrived with their _guest_.

He fought a sneer at the pathetic sight of the woman, reining his temper by reminding himself of the use he had for her. When the ritual was over, he needed someone to test his theory, and since none of his servants were foolish enough to raise their wands against him with the intention to harm, well…

He needed to start soon. The agitation his Horcrux was offering oh so freely, was starting to make him awfully giddy.

"Lucius, make sure the woman is comfortable until she's needed."

He averted his attention back to the signature he had drawn on the ground, not needing to check to know that the Malfoy Lord had done as ordered. And as he studied every carve the chalk had left behind in the form of the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, he had to keep his expression perfectly blank at the sound of a body carelessly being tossed to the other side of the room, out of sight till called again.

This was going to be quite entertaining.

***)&(***

Harry had to fight a wince at the loud thump that resulted from Umbridge's rough impact with the floor. Seriously, out cold or not, that had got to hurt.

Hedwig's indignant hooting for the disruption went unattended, emerald eyes glued straight ahead. Lord Voldemort had finished his inspection.

Probably satisfied with the perfection of the symbol he had been drawing, the man's eyes were now drifting from one unmasked person to the other, as if making a silent count, checking to see if all of his Inner Circle were present. But Harry didn't follow his gaze. He couldn't. Quickly, fearing that if he took too long he'd lose some major detail, he scanned the chalk-white signature, scowling at the simplicity of it.

A triangle, within it a circle, and within that a vertical line.

So plain, and yet, Voldemort had made certain not a single inch of it was out of order. Why? Was it some kind of rune? If only Hermione was here!

His scowl deepened, the course of his own notions ceasing abruptly. He had to stay focused.

He expected some sort of triumphant speech, or declaration on the Dark Lord's part, but apparently that wasn't the case. Voldemort was eager, and it showed in the hurried way he flourished his wand. Not that Harry was expecting anything less. After years of pursuing immortality, his efforts were finally paying.

Heck, the man's giddiness was giving Harry the creeps.

What he couldn't quite understand, however, was the difference between Hallows and Horcruxes. Was it because Horcruxes were more vulnerable, like Voldemort had said? Then why not just strengthen the protection around them, ensure that they were kept somewhere far away, someplace that only Voldemort himself would have access.

He shuddered violently, eliminating that musing the moment he realized that he now had to include himself in that category. A cell he could take, but being locked away in some tower on an isolated island with nothing but golden, hissing trinkets for the rest of his life…? Not his piece of cake.

An image of Azkaban Prison came to mind, and an extra portion of shivers wracked his frame.

Now, wouldn't that be funny? The Dementors, in all of their cloaked and spooky glory, circling the tall, dark tower; guarding him and a few jewels rather than convicts sentenced with life imprisonment.

Harry was more than thankful for the distraction, even if it came in the form of the Dark Lord's yew wand.

He blinked once, just once. How long could it have taken? A second? Less than? The moment his eyes opened again, three objects were already floating in front of Voldemort, immobile in the centre of the room. Harry had to crane his neck to look at them properly, the torch lights showering them with eerie shadows, making it all the more difficult to distinguish their shape.

The Dark Lord, inhumanly slender and tall as he was, was barely just reaching the height in which they were suspended. But as the man walked closer to them – mindful not to allow his robes to brush against the corners of the symbol as he stepped away from it, crimson eyes not once losing their afloat target – it dawned on Harry that they were purposefully put on such an open display.

Voldemort wanted his Death Eaters to see those items.

"It can't be –" the teen breathed out, fingers splaying out on the transparent, unmoving, solid surface before him, looking up at the objects and squinting.

His lips parted in surprise, disbelieving, wide green eyes staring up at his father's cloak, its silky, dark layers suspended in a mocking imitation of some Muggle child's theory of a ghost.

"Then these…" Harry's eyes wandered over to the other two objects. There. If he looked close enough, that thin thing next to his cloak, held a disturbing resemblance to a wand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Voldemort's burning gaze swept over the black clad bodies, "may I present you with substantial evidence of a legend that only few have pursued successfully…"

A single wave of that skeletal wand and the light of the torches shown brighter than ever, bathing every corner of the room with light, and illuminating the three objects with perfect clarity.

"The Deathly Hallows!"

Foolproof, concrete silence proceeded Voldemort's words, every single pair of eyes unblinking in their perusal, too stunned to ask the very question that must have plagued their minds.

How did their Lord come by them? The mythical items whose questionable existence had driven powerful witches and wizards into madness on their quest to seek them out.

"But let us not waste precious time, my friends!" the Dark Lord announced, pointing his wand at the first item.

"The Cloak of Invisibility," he said, and the cloak soared high in the air, as if stung by an unseen force before spiraling downwards, straight onto the drawn symbol, its edges folding in on themselves with precision so as to match the white triangle.

"The Resurrection Stone," The stone followed the cloak's exact route, coming to land on the very centre of the shadowy folds, much smaller than the round, white circle it represented.

"And last, the Elder Wand." With one more flick, the remaining object mimicked the course of its predecessors, gently lowering itself upon the flat surface of the dark stone.

Harry's breath hitched. The moment the last of the Hallows came in contact with its fellows, all three of them began to shake; slow vibrations that gradually grew stronger, more powerful and violent. The Dark Lord took small, calculated steps forward, and almost instinctively, everyone else stepped backwards, unwilling to hinder the procession with their presence.

But their Master didn't seem to notice. His undiluted attention was focused solely on the shuddering items on the ground, scarlet eyes hungrily taking in the almost vicious volume in the vibrations.

Then, just when Harry thought that they were going to self-destruct if this went on for a minute longer, the deep brown wand vanished in a shower of red sparks which fused into one bright beam that, with lightning speed, struck the Dark Lord. It seemed to imbed itself in the back of his hand, scorching the marble flesh to the point that an angry, red line was left after the light was extinguished; an exact copy of the vertical line that the wizard had drawn with chalk.

As painful as it seemed, Harry felt compelled to give some credit to the Dark wizard for not showing a single sign of discomfort.

Yet at the same time, he couldn't fail but wish it was a torture beyond imagination for the Dark Lord, so that it'd make up for the pain he himself would have to go through in a short while.

For a man claiming to take good care of his possessions, Voldemort was doing a rather poor job at it, considering that he had already suffered a broken shoulder blade at the hands of said man, and there'd be more to follow soon. Not that he viewed himself as the Dark Lord's property; the mere thought was too disconcerting and sickening to stomach. He had just wanted to make a point of how much of a hypocrite the other was.

A mild, barely there warmth, made him blink rapidly, looking down at his hand and noting with no little puzzlement that there was nothing wrong. Then why was he feeling hot all of a sudden?

Reluctantly, fearful of his findings, he let his eyes drift to Voldemort's hand, only now noticing that there already was a burnt marking of a circle atop the previous red line. Did that mean that only the cloak was now left? If so, the warm sensation that was filling him up made a little more sense.

The cloak was the only Hallow that Voldemort didn't have direct claim on, which was exactly why the Dark Lord would force the fragment of himself to remain inside Harry, to keep open their connection, as the man had so kindly explained.

Was that what his cloak was doing? Checking to make certain that its owner was indeed somehow linked with the man that was now staking his claim?

Oh, how he wanted the cloak to refuse Voldemort, to only accept those of the Potter line.

But it was too childish to hope for something so vain. For six whole years he had been using his father's heirloom and the cloak not once had failed him, not once had refused to work for him. And if that blasted shard of the Dark Lord's soul had been with him ever since he was one year old, then the cloak had obviously no objections against that foreign part.

Then why object with the owner of said shard claiming it, beside its rightful master?

Mere seconds later, the triangle sign made its appearance on the back of Voldemort's hand, ironically enough responding to his inner musings, and summoning a bitter chuckle from the back of Harry's throat.

Eyes glued to that bright red mark, Harry slumped against the wall, shoulders sagging under the weight of the undeniable fact that was mocking him in the face.

His good arm came up, fingers tracing the marking on his forehead, the skin under his fingertips not once reacting to him the way it reacted to Voldemort, tingling upon contact with its original soul. And now he'd never be able to rid of it. Voldemort would never allow such a thing.

Another chuckle left his lips, closely accompanied by a dry sob. He wanted to tell Dumbledore that his theories no longer mattered, that the Horcruxes he had been so set on hunting down were now useless. But what he craved more, was to tell his Headmaster how wrong he was for placing his trust on all the wrong people; he had trusted Tom Riddle to prove him wrong, that the ambitious, cruel boy he had met at that cold orphanage was also capable of doing good and not just bad. He was mistaken.

He had trusted Severus Snape to choose the right side, the right people to ally himself with. Another mistake. Snape had betrayed him in the worst way possible.

…He had trusted Harry Potter to bring the downfall of a dangerous, powerful man. Again, he was mistaken. Harry couldn't be anyone's savior. And as a result, the whole wide world would have to suffer an eternity with Lord Voldemort.

***)&(***

Intoxicating.

Triumph was simply intoxicating.

He almost couldn't believe that the signature of the Deathly Hallows that marked him as Master of Death was no hallucination. It was perfectly real. The redness was fading away slowly, leaving a black symbol on his unblemished skin, so contradictory with the whiteness of his flesh, almost like a paradox.

But a paradox he had conquered.

If he concentrated enough, he could sense them. All the Hallows were at his disposal now. And all that was required of him was to merely focus on which one he had a use for, and the item would do his bidding.

True, sweet, invincible immortality. And it was all his.

But first things first. There was one more thing that needed to be affirmed for his victory to be complete.

Scarlet eyes, brighter than ever, sought out the limp form of Dolores Umbridge, his faithful servants scurrying out of the way to grant him sight of the one person he was after. A slow, drawn out purr crawled up his throat, when his prey was revealed to him, helpless and vulnerable on the ground.

"_Enervate!" _As if sensing his impatience, his magic rushed out in an almost hurried current, eager to serve and appease.

In a matter of seconds, the woman shot upright, roughly forced out of her unconscious state. Dazed and started amber eyes blinked owlishly a couple of times – extenuating just a little bit more of the Dark Lord's cool – before they grew fearful once recollection could finally be seen settling in them.

At once, the plump woman struggled to get her bearings together, scrambling to her feet so fast that she nearly toppled over again; the snickers that rose from the assembled crowd letting her know precisely how amusing her efforts were.

But the Dark Lord had no time for such folly.

One step was all that needed for the attention to be drawn to his person, and the room fell into an abrupt hush, their eyes turning apprehensive once more.

"Introductions should prove rather unnecessary, don't you think, Madam?" Umbridge's knees started wobbling so horribly at being addressed by none other than the Dark Lord Voldemort, that it was a miracle how she was still standing.

"Then I shall skip straight to the point." Voldemort's tone was curt, and it only served to strengthen Umbridge's tremors. "You see, my loyal subjects were curious as to the extended use of the Torture Curse, how powerful a dose a living being is capable to endure and so on."

Umbridge was looking ready to faint anytime, but Voldemort paid that tiny little detail no mind as he stalked towards her with leisure motions. "Needless to say, I've determined that you'll be fulfilling the role of their lab rat. However, the Dark Lord is willing to grant you a chance to break free of that fate."

This time, the woman did fall down to her knees, her already ripped, floral pink skirt emanating tearing little sounds as she crawled hurriedly towards Voldemort, desperation sculpted to her every feature. "Anything, your Lordship! I'll do anything!" Huge drops of water cascalated down her face, almond colored strands of hair flying in a disarray from her vigorous bowing of the head.

Voldemort felt the corners of his mouth edge sideways. "Good, good..." he cooed softly, "You'll be allowed one try, Madam, but if you cast a successful Killing Curse, my Death Eaters shall leave you unharmed."

"The K-K-Killing Curse?" Umbridge croaked, her beady eyes large and terror filled. In her panic she had unwittingly lifted her head, glimpsing the Dark Lord's serpentine visage for a good two seconds before a shriek was ripped from her. The sharp thump that her forehead created after its contact with the floor was a good indication of how painful it must have been, but a headache was the least of Umbridge's top problems at the moment.

"O-of course, your L-Lordship. I can certainly do t-that. Who would you h-have me kill?"

Voldemort's head fell to the side, assessing the woman before him with piercing eyes.

"Myself."

A sharp, high pitched cry burst forth from Umbridge's lips.

"My Lord!" Yaxley exclaimed, and was echoed by Dolohov.

"Silence!" the Dark Lord snapped, cutting short any further protests before they could be voiced.

Umbridge was quivering, her head swaying weakly from side to side. She was muttering incoherencies under her breath, not nearly brave enough to speak them out loud for her audience to hear.

"I will make this plain enough for you to fathom." A pause was inserted in the dark, low tone. "Do this, or I will have them torture you in ways unimaginable to a mere human being. You won't even possess the strength to _beg _for death by the time my Death Eaters are marginally through with you."

Umbridge's hands, which had been clutching handfuls of the fabric of her velvet skirt, fell limply to her sides, unable to so much as twitch anymore. Wide, lifeless amber stared up at the face of damnation in its most raw form, her gaze unseeing and incomprehensible.

"Yes." Her voice was flat, void of any emotion and spark, resigned to her fate like a prisoner upon faced with the axe of their executioner.

The terrifying, absolutely horrendous smile bestowed upon her was wasted. Umbridge didn't even hesitate to lift thick fingers to wrap around the offered piece of wood, uncaring of the glimmer of familiarity that flickered through her at contact with her own wand. She would never deny the many atrocities that this particular wand was accused of, well aware of the suffering she had wreaked on her journey to attain power.

But for all it was worth, she was still proud of the one thing she was excused for; never had she committed murder.

And as her eyes trailed the deadly white limb, she realized with grim resignation, that this man before her, this creature of monstrosity, simply thrived with the prospect of cursing another soul to such a condemnatory fate. And ironic as it was, she couldn't fail but accept that this was the very reason why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had succeeded where Grindelwald had failed. This was a Dark Lord through and through.

The amount of hatred that overwhelmed her took even her by surprise. Then again, why shouldn't she feel angry, cheated? After everything she had done, everything she had gone through to ensure that the Ministry was a righteous place and justly sentenced those unworthy in their society, after everything she had fought for, and this was how she was rewarded?

Moreover, how dare the man that had committed the most uncalled for of sins time and time again, judge her? He who was only thought upon as the devil incarnate sentence _her_?

A bright, green jet of light erupted from the tip of the short, crimson-brown wand and for the first seconds or so, Umbridge's expression morphed into one of pure, unconcealed horror.

The curse had been successful…

…and the Dark Lord had made no move to avoid its deadly path.

An agony filled screech reverberated through the otherwise hushed room, an echo of undiluted desperation and terror for the woman's own life which had been surely forfeited the moment she dared harm the esteemed leader of the Darkest of wizards – wizards that were present in the very same room, and who were about to skin her of her very flesh, and deprive her of every single bone in her body while keeping her fully conscious, and - !

Images of the most gruesome torture methods imaginable were abruptly cut short the single moment that her muddled brain registered the wheezing little chuckles.

Tense shoulder muscles slowly unraveled to allow her to lift her head, the tears that had gathered in her eyes rolling downwards as she blinked and blinked again, disbelieving and no little awestruck.

There was no green light in sight anymore, as if it had been sucked right out of the room. Instead, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stood exactly where he had been, in all his black robed glory, with his head thrown backwards and arms spread wide in a mockery of an embrace. The soft, barely audible chuckles had escalated into elated laughter, so uncontrollable and intense that the wizard was choking between breaths, seemingly unable to put a stopper in the endless well that had opened up.

"Behold!" Voldemort whirled around, facing his speechless followers. "Behold the tremendous power of the Deathly Hallows! The power of flawless immortality!"

Schooling their features, every single Death Eater fell down to one knee, head lowered and arm bending to place their fisted hand upon their clothed chest in a clear and doubtless display of where their loyalties lay.

The sight only appeared to make the Dark Lord excessive drunk on power, soaring his high to greater skies.

With a whooshing sound, Voldemort performed a full circle turn, black robes floating around his form like some sort of flapping wings. When he turned to Umbridge again, the woman's shaking began anew upon faced with that razor sharp, face-splitting grin. One, two long strides, that was all it took, and the man was crouching before her, his pale, deformed face mere inches from hers.

"Tell me, Dolores Umbridge," the wizard's breath fanned her face with every softly spoken word, "did your skin tingle each time you touched Harry Potter? Did you long to control the untamed, sweet power that the boy reeked of? Is that why you put him in detention on countless occasions? So that you could keep within your grasp that euphoric sensation. Did you rejoice once you were reunited with it when you took my locket in your possession?"

Umbridge wanted to shut her eyes tight, unable to stare into those depthless red pits any longer without having her own eyes sting under the weight of that gaze, and yet finding herself deprived of motion. Even blinking appeared like a far, incomprehensible idea.

The Dark Lord straightened up, scarlet orbs never allowing her a respite. "You had the audacity to defile my treasures with your marks of ownership, Dolores Jane Umbridge, and you shall pay quite dearly for such an atrocity."

Scanning the crowd of robed forms, Voldemort motioned with his fingers. "Yaxley."

The figure hurried forward, coming before the Dark Lord and bowing deep. His long, dark hair that contained multiple streaks of grey were fastened in a low ponytail that hung over one clothed shoulder.

"At your command, my Liege."

"Make sure to put a nice wrapping around Madam Umbridge here, and send her along with a greeting card to Greyback."

"G-G-Greyback?" squealed Umbridge, her eyes impossibly wide.

Voldemort's grin broadened. "I do keep my promises, after all. I gave you my word that my Death Eaters wouldn't lay a hand on you if your attempt was proven successful. However, I never mentioned the werewolves. They need to be appeased from time to time, you see."

Face stricken with horror, the scream that Umbridge was due to let loose died on her lips the moment the non-verbal Stunning Curse hit her right between the eyes, and as if an invisible switch had been pressed, her eyelids drooped over frightened blown pupils.

A twisted smile bloomed on Yaxley's lips, and with a wave of his wand, the limp body of Dolores Umbridge was lifted off the ground and floating towards the opened double doors. His Master had said no hands, after all.

The heavy, mahogany doors shut again behind the pair, and Voldemort's eyes mimicked the action, an expression of plain serenity taking over for the moment.

Overwhelmed and sick to the stomach, Harry couldn't stifle the urge to bury his face in his hands, his entire body overridden with small, little tremors from overload of the day's events. He felt nauseous by the mere notion of weighting them all down one by one. Too much important stuff, and this wasn't even over yet.

"Now then…"

At Voldemort's low declaration, Harry's head jerked up, at exactly the same moment that the man's eyes snapped open and to the side, slit like irises staring at him from the corner of those red eyes.

The action was so sudden and unpredicted, that Harry's back hit the wall behind him from the force he applied to scoot backwards.

Dread started crawling up the boy's spine at the sight of the feral grin that was bestowed upon him, crept out by the mere posture Voldemort had adopted. He still refused to turn and face him fully, just standing there, presenting Harry with only one side of him, pinning him with that creepy sidelong stare and making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

But then, the Dark Lord lifted one arm, and Harry's last intake of breath hitched in his throat, deer like emeralds watching as that long limb stretched out towards him, palm facing upwards and clawed fingers held out in some kind of invitation.

"Shall I show you, my treasure, the necessary steps for our dance?" And before Harry's very eyes, that wild grin grew bigger and bigger in size, until it transformed into a gruesome, wicked, sickening smirk. "The horrid dance of death that we have been called to join?"

The spidery fingers curled inwards then, like they had sensed their prey was in their grasp and hurried so it wouldn't scurry away.

And Harry, compelled by the horrifying sight that the Dark Lord presented – like the Grim Reaper himself had come to pay a visit – and the chill that had seeped all the way into his bones, threw his head back and screamed his lungs out, desperately wishing in some far corner of his mind to howl himself hoarse so that he wouldn't be forced to listen to his own cries of agony and pain that he had been promised would follow.

**END OF CHAPTER TEN**

**So, so? What did you think?**

**And things have only just started to heat up! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: ****IMPORTANT: ****Here's another chapter for each and every one of you out there that has deemed my story worthwhile. **

**But before that, I feel I should clear up a few things. Voldemort is now the Master of Death. He can't be killed, nor harmed in any way. Lethal spells won't have any effect on him whatsoever. Harry, however, isn't included in this. The connection between them doesn't make him Master of Death as well, he doesn't have any claims on the Hallows, with the exception of the Cloak which was his to begin with.**

**If there are still questions, or anything else that you don't get, feel free to say so in your review or in a private message, and I'll do my best to help you out. ^^**

**On with the chapter then! **

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

If his limbs had been in any mood for obedience, Harry was certain he'd have been chewing his nails off in the wake of his growing apprehension and anxiety.

As it was, now that every single part of him felt like it weighted a ton, he could only stare ahead as the Dark Lord made preparations for the final, equally crucial, part of this ordeal. With renewed vigor, the man had moved this way and that, taking great care when summoning one item after the other, handling them with gentle and almost tender touches as he positioned them in an organized row.

Harry didn't need to look; he had felt them the moment they were brought into the room. He shuddered yet again, catching a few stray chitterlings. He hated it. The sound held such a high resemblance with the disgusting screech that a chalk produced when pressed against a blackboard.

He had always disliked it, and especially more so after Snape had made a point to do exactly that whenever he wrote instructions on the board during the Potions class.

Some time ago, Nagini had slithered into the room, her deep green scales smoothly rubbing against the tiled floor. She was circling around the Horcruxes, pausing when any of the gilded treasures would emit that sound. Her dark pink, forked tongue would flick out then, tasting the air surrounding the items, before she'd speak to it, low and soothing words that had the distressed piece of jewelry instantly calmed.

The rest of their spectators were only able to hear them hissing, item and animal alike, but to a person actually capable of comprehending the unique tongue, the exchange was greatly unnerving.

Harry fought the extra shivers that crawled up his spine.

He had no idea how Voldemort intended to go about this, the procedure he'd follow, but it'd be exhausting enough to make the man feel threatened about his magical core and life-force being drained. Which was exactly why he had chosen to start with the Hallows; to assure himself that nothing could go wrong while dealing with the mutilated parts of his soul.

Voldemort had already proved that he could no longer be harmed by his earlier experiment, a fact that Harry still had trouble swallowing without sensing bile coming up. The consequences that'd follow after this horrid day didn't seem to bode too well for the rest of the world.

Clearly, the Killing Curse no longer worked on the Dark wizard, whereas previously, when Voldemort only had the Horcruxes to depend on, his body would have turned to ashes and solely his spirit would have survived, much like the state he had been reduced to after failing to kill Harry's toddler self.

But what about the rest of the Curses?

If he were to be hit by a _Sectumsempra_? Would he bleed to death if the gashes weren't attended to, or would the Hallows simply not allow that?

This was so bloody confusing that it was frustrating!

"Don't trouble yourself with such details, Harry," Voldemort didn't lift his gaze from his lined up treasures to meet the teen's meager glare. "Death never before has been willing to accept another person as his Master," Red eyes observed attentively the dark form of his familiar, bending his upper back enough to allow his spidery fingers to brush against the serpent's chilly scales. "Once he has judged you worthy of his gifts, no one shall be able to force him relinquish his hold over you."

"Who's worthy? You? But of course, because you've been so considerate and kind to others that you deserve some sort of reward." Harry bit out scathingly, lips curling at the preposterous idea.

"Considerate and kind? Reward?" Voldemort repeated slowly, head tilting towards Harry, and the boy frowned upon seeing those crimson orbs crinkling with wry amusement.

"Death feeds off chaos, torture, and pain. Do you honestly believe he would acknowledge a Master who has only ever been considerate and kind?" The wizard chuckled, a dark and ominous sound. "My naïve, little treasure. It's thanks to the numerous times I have evaded and outsmarted Death, and due to the havoc I have wreaked in all of my years on this planet, that deemed me acceptable. And he bestowed me with this reward as you put it, simply because I sought out this path while aware of what it really was; a curse."

Harry could feel his eyebrows knitting together slowly, forming the heavy frown that resulted from those words.

Voldemort had returned to his silent inspection, signaling the end of their little chat, and leaving Harry with much more things to make up his 'to contemplate' list.

He let his fingers slip past the silver bars of the cage next to him, and Hedwig – his smart, brilliant Hedwig – instantly lifted her head to meet him halfway, sensing his nerves and anxiety in that one touch.

His owl had never really been too eager for contact, seeking it out like the rest of her kind from their masters. If she was feeling too moody, she wouldn't even allow Harry to stroke her feathers.

Hermione and Ron had wisely learnt to keep their hands to themselves when it concerned the snowy owl, not willing to risk a finger or two simply for petting her.

It was in occasions like these though, that Harry truly felt touched by his owl's loyalty, when Hedwig was willing to discard the selfishness that had been instilled in her by nature. She had even shared with him the immense burden that were the Dursleys, seeing first hand the toll a whole summer in their presence could have on him, something that his friends had only ever been able to witness the aftermath of, meaning, his unhealthily thin frame once he was reunited with them.

He'd never forget how thankful he had felt during the many restless nights that he had yet again gone without a scrap of food, Hedwig's presence a soothing reminder of the world he truly belonged to, the world he'd escape to the moment summer had run its course.

He tensed suddenly, both fingers and thoughts coming to a standstill.

He removed his hand from the snowy folds, swallowing before tentatively reaching out, knowing beforehand that his arm wouldn't be able to go far in its venture.

Surely enough, the pad of his fingers came across something invisible, preventing him from going farther.

A sigh left his lips, long and drawn out.

He had known from the sudden chill that had traveled down his spine that the barrier was back. It was a peculiar sensation, similar to that of last summer, when Mad-Eye had put him under that camouflage spell for the duration of their journey to Headquarters. It was as though a bucket of icy-cold water had been emptied on him.

Voldemort had taken it down a while back, and had kept it that way during his preparation of the Horcruxes, as though he needed all the concentration he could get for the task at hand.

But now that the barrier was erected again, it could only mean one thing…

…It was time.

The very moment the realization hit him, Harry could feel his breathing turn erratic, his pulse speeding up abnormally fast. Biting down the pitiful whimper that threatened to leave him, he scooted backwards, fingers clamping around the bars of Hedwig's cage simply for an anchor.

Across from him, Voldemort had straightened to his full height, and Nagini, to Harry's escalating horror, had taken her place amidst the artifacts, just like another treasure in the collection, emphasizing all the more that this was truly happening.

Voldemort lifted one arm, and Harry instinctively shrank against the wall, but the Dark Lord merely held his hand outstretched, palm facing down, and straight above the Horcruxes.

One look in those eyes, and a feeling of dread consumed the teen, suffocating him with its intensity.

Voldemort's pale lips parted, barely enough to allow only a couple of words to slither past, _"Return to me."_

So simple words, and yet, only those of the Slytherin line would have been capable of speaking them, making the need for a more complicated code unnecessary. Parseltongue itself was the password, and only Lord Voldemort should have been in possession of it.

Nevertheless, the response to that call was immediate.

Harry's sharp inhale of air never made it to his lungs as he choked on it. His good hand flew to his head, gripping it firmly while his eyes grew wide from the sheer force of the agony that flooded his senses.

For the first few seconds or so, Harry stood frozen, entrapped in utter disbelief. Surely it was impossible, incomprehensible even, for such raw pain to actually exist. But as time ticked on, and the sensations only seemed to increase instead of lessen, Harry felt the tell tale signs of panic knotting his insides.

As though someone had taken a knife and had curved a wound on his forehead, it was beyond anything he had ever felt in his entire life, making Voldemort's usual pounding in his head appear like the most tender of touches.

But it wasn't just on the outside. No, he'd have been able to withstand it if it was restricted on his flesh only.

It felt as though a wound, blistering and stinging, had been curved inside him as well. It was unimaginable. Something in the deep, far recesses of his soul had been abruptly called to life, an entity of its own right. And that entity appeared nearly desperate to obey Voldemort's summons, as if its whole existence depended on it.

But it wasn't allowed such an action; something was keeping it restrained, bound to Harry alone.

And the entity didn't like it. Seething and furious that its freedom was denied, it clawed and struck against its confines, and Harry – half desperate to assist it so that it would cease its relentless onslaught, and consumed by both outer and inner assaults – put his own hands to use, clawing and scraping his forehead viciously, uncaring that his eyelids took most of the brunt, or the way his nails left bloody trails in their wake, scarlet rivulets marring his face. He just wanted that thing out.

Hedwig's alarmed hoots were overlapped, mere whispers compared to his screams.

Suddenly, the link between his mind and Voldemort's was ripped open, the action so violent, that Harry's tightly shut and throbbing eyelids snapped open.

Hazy emerald eyes became blurrier as their sockets filled with moisture, spilling over and scalding his scratched cheeks. He barely caught a glimpse of a black mass swirling in a spiral around Voldemort's form, dust-like and thick. That was as far as he went, however, before his eyes refilled with hot tears.

He shut them again, hoping beyond hope for some reprieve.

His scream increased in octave, echoing the shrieks reverberating into his head from the other side of the connection.

The tears continued to stream down, even behind his pursed lids, as Harry found himself torn between voicing his own pain and that of the Dark Lord's.

His struggles reawakened anew, nails returning to the source of all his agony, both hands seemingly seeking to claw his scar right out of his skin with their ferocity. It was all so much, too much for him to handle at once. And suddenly he was choking, the oxygen he was breathing in coming right back out in the form of strangled gasps.

His vision was clouding, black spots erupting here and there, quickly overtaking all other color.

And that was when it vanished.

He took one large, deep inhale, feeling every constricting sensation leaving his body in one great wave.

His arms fell to his sides, hanging lifeless and heavy, and his head lolled back against the wall, throbbing and sore. Dull emerald eyes stared vacantly up at the ceiling. He blinked once, slowly and wearily, feeling the remaining tears that hung on his eyelashes slipping down, the burning sensation they left on his face not even phasing him after everything else that had taken place.

And behind his scar, he could sense that thing withdrawing at last, sullen and petulant.

Harry wanted to shout, kick and punch. He wanted to sob. Never before had he felt so close to dying. Yes, he had felt he was taunting death in the past, during his many rendezvous with the Dark Lord, but never in his life had he been so overwhelmed by such excruciating, fiery agony and pain.

Every single nerve he possessed, every muscle in his body, still felt like it was on fire, still throbbed like absolute hell. He couldn't move, couldn't bat a single eyelash.

It hurt to even breathe.

He wanted to go to sleep so badly.

There was whispering, however. Faint as it was, it still brought him back to the conscious world each time his eyelids would slide close.

Heaving a sigh, he let his gaze drift from the ceiling and downwards, unable to summon the strength to move his head. The twinkling of gold was the first thing to catch his eye, emitting from the scattered artifacts all around the ground. Was it just him, or were these things glittering more than they did before? It was almost like extracting the soul shards from within their depths had cleansed them in some way, bringing out their true beauty and shine.

Well, he supposed that it was possible. Horcruxes, after all, were considered one of the darkest forms of magic.

Dismissing the treasures, he dragged his eyes across the floor, coming to a stop upon spotting the tip of a tail. For a moment, he pondered on the dullness Nagini's scales seemed to have obtained, before finding himself uncaring by it.

The snake's usually bright eyes appeared to have lost some of their glistening quality as well, her jaws unhinging slowly as she spoke in low, hushed tones that couldn't quite reach Harry. A pale hand was stroking along her head, gentle in its movements. The Dark Lord was kneeled before her, and Harry couldn't be certain since the wizard's back was to him, but he thought he could hear him whispering back.

Then, to the teen's mounting disbelief, Nagini's eyelids fluttered closed and her form simply vanished, turning into a thin layer of black ash that stood in the snake's place, before that too was gone, sucked right into the tiled floor.

Harry would have shivered if he could.

Not because of the sight. He couldn't care less about that blasting thing's death. She had harmed and who knew how many other unfortunate souls. No, she was better off gone.

But…

Was that what would have happened to him if Voldemort hadn't put that barrier around him to shield him?

Would his body have turned to ash like Nagini, gone without a single trace of his existence?

…Talk about a sad way to go.

The Dark Lord straightened up, bringing back Harry's focus. He rolled his shoulders carefully, as if a great deal of tension had been piled up, and Harry couldn't fail but note how the rim of that black robed pooled down on the floor, as if it no longer fit his form.

Then, a solemn wave of the skeletal wand and a mirror, oval and silver framed, morphed out of thin air. It floated in front of Voldemort, whose hand lifted to tentatively touch the glittering surface.

He would have turned to gauge the Death Eaters' reactions to this, had he been able to.

But as it was, the scene as a whole made little to no sense to him… that was, till the mirror shifted just an inch, and he caught sight of the reflection in it.

His eyes couldn't possibly widen at this point, the eyelids stung too much to even blink, but that did nothing to lessen the intensity of the jolt that shook him to the core.

The visage he had affiliated with Lord Voldemort ever since the fateful events in the graveyard of Little Hangleton no longer existed. Gone were all traits that used to serve as a reminder of the man's ancestry to the Founder.

Black hair, just a tad wavy, reached all the way down to the man's nape, curling ever so slightly over his ears, with a dark fringe obscuring most of his left eye from view. The pallor of his skin was no longer unnatural, like the sickly whiteness of a corpse. Instead, its paleness now gave off a healthy glow, the skin firm and taut like that of a person in their late teens. The fingers that were splayed over the mirror's surface were long still, but they didn't appear spidery anymore and bend in abnormal angles at the knuckles, and the nails were blunt instead of claw-like.

If it weren't for the eyes, Harry would have been positive that Voldemort had just cast a glamour on his person for reasons unfathomable.

Crimson pupils, slit-like and bright. Those eyes could never be mistaken for someone else's.

As if sensing his stare, the mirror jerked, tilting downwards enough to reflect Harry's form, limp and motionless against the wall.

The corners of those full, dark pink lips pulled to the side, revealing straight white teeth.

He pushed the mirror away with his hand, the item morphing out the moment it ceased to maintain contact with the man.

Voldemort turned around, and Harry realized that the reason the robe seemed longer was because it was suited for the toweringly tall figure, and not the human one that the Dark Lord was in possession as of now. But that was of such little importance the moment Voldemort approached him, Harry's eyes glued to his every move, feeling a shock of panic for every step that bridged the distance between them.

He wanted to move away, far away from everything that had to do with the Dark Lord and his influence.

His heartbeat accelerated the closer Voldemort moved, and to his absolute terror, that thing from before uncoiled, sensing the man's presence stronger than ever before, relishing in it and nearly purring from the thrill of it.

Harry's fingers twitched, the only outward reaction that portrayed his distress.

Voldemort paused briefly enough to tear down the enchantment, stopping only once he stood right before the teen. Harry tried lifting his head, grunting low in his throat from the flash of pain that shot up his spine at the motion, and let it stay propped against the wall.

Eventually, the only thing he could do was adjust his gaze, dragging his eyes up to look into crimson.

The contact wasn't maintained long, however. Voldemort reached down, cupping Harry's face in his palm, expression unreadable. The teen flushed, shell-shocked at how ridiculously good the Horcrux felt from the touch. He attempted to jerk away, whimpering softly at how unresponsive his muscles were, forcing him to stay in place.

"D-don't…" he muttered, hoarse and strained.

'_Don't come any closer!'_ Harry yelled in his mind. _'Stop! Don't- Just don't… don't t-touch me.'_

"You shall learn to control it…in time." Voldemort said, voice a deep tenor and so much like his memory self. He stroked some stray scratch marks underneath Harry's eye, earning a strangled sob as the fresh injury was teased. "Hush, you must be tired. Rest, for now."

And Harry, worn out and tired, _so, so tired_, as he was, both physically and mentally, simply gave up at that moment, powerless to withstand the exhaustion any longer and unable to keep his mind from shutting down on him. Tears filled his eyes again, running out unbidden. He was so ashamed for breaking down right in front of the man that had caused him so much suffering, showing him just how affected he was, and so ashamed for not being strong enough to tolerate the pain in his body.

Already half unconscious, he felt his eyelids droop all the way, bringing a merciful pause in the flow of waterworks and sending him over the edge and straight into the abyss.

The Dark Lord righted himself, bringing a finger to his lips and swiping it with his tongue, licking away the blood that had been smearing the pad. His lips tilted sideways, allowing a smirk to grace his features as he took in the battered form of the Boy-Who-Lived.

He had won, at last. Officially and irrevocably won.

"This is checkmate, Dumbledore."

He swept around, transfiguring his clothes to more fitting ones while walking over to the high backed chair at the front of the room, red eyes glowing as one by one the black clothed figures fell on their knees at his passing.

Being in control had never felt so good.

**TBC…**

**Phew, another chappie is over!**

**What do you think? Let me know your thoughts on this!**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE **

A pained grunt echoed behind his pursed lips, eyes fluttering open torturously slow. The person that greeted him, though, nearly made him close them shut again.

"Wash your face," was the first thing that Voldemort said. He flicked his wrist and a basin, glittery and silver, floated smoothly over to where Harry was propped up against the wall.

He sat up as best as he could with only a couple of his limbs functioning properly, not nearly as surprised as the first time he had awoken in that very same position.

It made him wonder whether these people had ever heard of lying down.

The basin landed in his lap and he was thankful to discover it had been charmed to be feather light.

With too much effort, he lifted quivering arms to reach for the water inside only to pause at the reflection that was staring back at him. The entire upper half of his face, starting from his forehead and ending just above his nose, was covered in a disgustedly greenish blue substance that made Harry want to vomit just by looking at it.

"What's-?" he croaked, coughing a couple of times before trying again, "What's this?"

"Severus was kind enough to provide a healing salve for the multiple scrapes that littered your face."

"From the good of his heart, I'm sure." Harry grumbled darkly, gathering handfuls of water and splashing his face. He had to repeat the action four times in total for the sticky substance to be extinguished completely.

He hummed under his breath, patting with the pad of his finger the skin of his forehead, pleased to find not a single scar left behind.

A sound much similar to the one he had just made sounded above him, starting him. Emerald eyes jerked upwards, freezing upon finding Voldemort's face too close for comfort. Aware it'd be useless to try and scoot backwards with the wall right behind him, Harry could do nothing but stare.

A pale hand rose to his face, grasping his chin between thumb and forefinger.

No pain jolted through him at the contact, and moreover, Voldemort's touch was no longer icy-cold but rather warm, just like a normal human being's.

The man tilted his face to the right slightly, blood red pupils roaming his every feature with an intensity that shocked Harry to the core. And in response, the thing behind his scar stirred, summoned to life by the heated sensations assaulting his skin and mind. Embarrassed at the plain, unmistakable want that surged through his veins suddenly, Harry's cheeks flushed.

It was really disturbing the amounts of affection one single shard could hold for the original.

What he found more disturbing, however, was the apparent effect it seemed to have on him. Was his soul really so merged with the shard that every emotion of the Horcrux felt like his own?

Shaken by the implications behind that notion, Harry jerked his head the other way, refusing to so much as glance at the face of his enemy.

Voldemort chuckled, sending shivers up the teen's spine at how human it sounded.

"Come," Voldemort said, the outer black robe he was wearing swirling shortly as he turned, "Your training commences."

That announcement, so simple as if the other was commenting on the weather, made Harry choke on his own saliva. "My what?" he spluttered, head twisting to openly stare at the man's back.

"We will be practicing on your wandless magic from now on." was the noncommittal response he received.

"Wait!" Harry called out, placing one palm on the wall to haul himself up on shaky legs. "What wandless magic!?"

Voldemort paused, glancing over one clothed shoulder at Harry. "The very same magic you have been performing ever since your forceful departure from Hogwarts. And the very same magic you demonstrated on your Muggle relative's sister."

"That was…" Harry's eyebrows knitted together into a scowl, "That was accidental magic." he muttered, more to himself than his audience.

Voldemort whirled sharply around, smoldering red eyes catching Harry's gaze and holding it. "Accidental magic is strictly restricted in children that have had no proper training, and on some occasions, not even then. I could use my magic at will while I was a child. That is called wandless magic."

His head cocked to the side slightly, causing his eyes to be almost completely hidden behind a dark fringe. "Wandless magic is rare, Harry. The wizards strong enough to accomplish it are countable on one hand, with Dumbledore and myself amongst them."

Harry's jaw grew slack. "You mean, all this time…it was wandless magic…what you've been doing?"

He slid a hand down his face. Did the powers of this man really know no boundaries?

"And Dumbledore too…" he whispered, a small smile gracing his features. Frankly, he wasn't surprised.

"Wandless magic," Voldemort's voice was sharp and cutting, instantly recapturing Harry's attention, "is mostly performed when a wizard has already started his education. Due to the Ministry's law that prohibits magic outside of one's institution, the wizard is no longer allowed to use his powers as he pleases. As a result, his magic becomes unsteady. At times of emotional distress, it bobbles up until it finally bursts. That magical surge is wandless magic. Upon reaching adulthood, however, the caster is free to practice it to their heart's content."

Harry shook his head, chasing away the headache he could feel building up. "But I'm still underage."

Voldemort's lips quirked to the side. "Fortunately for you, the Ministry is under my command now. When the people I assigned take notice of your Trace acting up, the matter shall be hushed immediately."

"Lucky me," Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, gesturing sharply towards the stairway with his head.

Heaving a sigh, the raven haired teen walked over to him, following after the man exited the cell that served as Harry's guest room. They climbed the familiar stairs that led up to the drawing room, which was exactly where Harry halted. A couple of Death Eaters were swarming the place, mostly gathered around the blazing hearth in the fireplace.

Their quiet chatter was cut off as they looked up, all of them bowing down to their waist.

Harry was certain he had caught a glimpse of Lucius Malfoy and Snape amongst the group, but he was swiftly grabbed around the forearm and dragged away before he could confirm his suspicions.

Stumbling to regain his footing, he blanched as they neared the massive double doors, the memories of what had taken place in there still too fresh on his mind.

"No!" he growled, tugging roughly at the hand clamped around his limb. "I'm not going back in there."

His arm was released suddenly, and Harry didn't lose the chance to snatch it away. Soon, however, both wrists were gripped firmly and used to drag him close to a hard chest. Voldemort peered down at him through hooded dark lashes. "Would you like to take your chances, perhaps?"

Scoffing, Harry looked away, feeling the numerous stares they were receiving. No, he didn't want to take any _chances_, because both of them knew who was going to win in the end.

"I knew you would see it my way." Voldemort let go of him, turning back towards the doors which opened soundlessly to grant him passage.

Harry rubbed at his sore wrists, scrunching his nose when he put too much pressure on a tender area.

Sighing pitifully, he trudged inside.

The interior of the room seemed to have reverted back to its former appearance, with the long table and chairs filling up nearly all of the space. The fireplace was lit, serving as the sole illumination. The two wall length windows on each of its side were presenting a pink dusted sky, which made Harry frown at the realization he had been out cold all night long.

Voldemort was already seated at the throne like chair at the head of the table.

Harry didn't know what the man was expecting from him, but he definitely knew what _he _expected.

"I'm not practicing anything before you show me how to control this…thing." he announced, resolute and unyielding in the matter. He refused to go on becoming flustered every time he came in close proximity with the Dark Lord.

"Thing?" Voldemort repeated, a perfectly sculpted brow arching. "You wound me, my treasure."

Harry didn't know whether to snort or let his eyes bulge out at the sarcasm. It wasn't something he'd ever associate with this wizard. Well, he supposed that reassembling one's soul could do wonders on their humor.

"This 'thing', as you so rudely put it, has been a part of you ever since you were a mere toddler. In a sense, you just badmouthed yourself."

Okay, he changed his mind. Voldemort's sarcasm wasn't appreciated in the slightest.

"It has too much control over my own emotions." Harry admitted through gritted teeth. "I want you to teach me how to change that."

Voldemort's red orbs glinted amusedly. "I just did."

Harry felt like tearing his hair out. "You did no such thing." he spat out, temper just barely in check.

Voldemort leaned his elbows on the table's surface, fingers interlocking together underneath his chin. "Of course I did. You shouldn't blame on other people your inability to keep up."

Any semblance of Harry's control was cut cleanly in half.

"What inability, you bastard!? You didn't do anything other than act all high and mighty!"

Next thing Harry knew, he was flying backwards, and _fast_. Before he had time to blink, his back and head smacked loudly against the mahogany doors, his breath lodging in his throat from the severity of the impact. His legs folded beneath him, causing him to slide downwards, where he remained.

"I have told you before that I will not tolerate such behavior from you, but it seems you can not find it in yourself to listen." Voldemort said, gaze piercing, "As refreshing as your fighting spirit is, let me inform you that should you address me as such, I shall provide you with a much more _befitting _reason to obey."

Unwittingly, Harry grasped his shoulder, the mended bones aching from the violent treatment. An action which was instantly traced by those blazing eyes.

"As I said, you shouldn't blame others for your inability to keep up. I warned you that as long as the damage is redeemable, the possibilities are limitless. You chose not to listen, yet again."

Harry's teeth ground together painfully, a slight screeching sound reaching his ears.

Voldemort allowed his arms to slide off the table, rising languidly from his chair. With sure, confident strides, he walked over to Harry, staring down at the boy in silence for a couple of moments.

Unnerved as he was, and all too aware of the Dark Lord's unpredictability, Harry stared back through guarded eyes.

"Now that I reattached the pieces of my soul, the shard I left in you is able to sense my presence stronger than ever before." Voldemort said, bending to lightly stroke the lightning bolt scar.

Harry drew back the very instant he felt it prickle pleasantly.

Satisfied he'd made his point, the Dark Lord straightened his spine. "Now that I have no desire to kill you, it shan't hurt unless commanded. But until you learn to dominate its emotions, it will continue to react the way it does now."

"That's what I told you," Harry said tentatively, unwilling to trigger the man's scorching temper again, "I don't know how."

"Yes, I understood you perfectly the first time." Voldemort hissed lowly, "Be that as it may, I can not abide by your request. You must learn to do so on your own accord, with time and patience."

"Patience?" muttered Harry, disbelievingly. "Easy for you to say."

Voldemort didn't dignify that particular comment with any form of response, much to Harry's reluctant relief. The Dark Lord cast him one last, narrowed look before turning to walk back the way he had come.

"Get up. We have work to do."

Grunting softly, Harry rose to his feet, already foreseeing the disaster this whole thing was going to transform into.

***)&(***

"Again."

Bellatrix cackled wildly at the order.

Harry had simply lost count of the bloody crescents he had dug in the undersides of his palms by this point. More work for his Potions teacher, it would seem.

How terribly unfortunate…

He turned to face the bouncing witch, a headache having formed a long time ago from the ceaseless hopping from one foot to the other. Bellatrix twirled in a circle, crooning at him insistently.

Various curses and spells kept shooting from her wand, colorful jets of bright light that wheezed past him, singeing his clothes whenever a spell strayed too close, but not once colliding with him.

Bellatrix would never dare displease her master again, not after having come too close to losing his favor, but that certainly didn't imply she couldn't work out any loopholes in his orders. As long as Harry remained unhurt, everything else was all in good fun and open to exploit.

"Come on, Potty!" She flashed him one of her deranged, wide grins, bringing him at wand point before sending two purple jets at either side of his head.

She burst out giggling like mad even as her attempts failed to spur him into motion.

Harry cast a dark look towards Voldemort's direction, voicing in his thoughts the entirety of his displeasure.

The Dark Lord, lounging in his high backed chair, obviously didn't feel inclined to alleviate the teen's annoyance in the slightest. Crimson orbs stared pointedly back at him.

With a growl building up in his throat, Harry turned the other way and closed his eyes resolutely, intent to shut the blubbering woman out. He repeated the process Voldemort had spoken of, something that had yet to prove fruitful. He had stopped feeling discouraged somewhere around the tenth try and now just went along with it in the hopes that Voldemort would get it into his head exactly how useless this was.

"What's the matter, itty baby? Done already?"

More snickers followed the rhetorical query, and Harry sensed a faint twitch on his eyebrow.

How her presence was meant to be of assistance to his practice was seriously beyond him.

He didn't allow his eyelids to flutter in spite of the provocation Bellatrix was blandly offering.

He focused on his inner thoughts, concentrating on each of them separately before slowly starting the draining process of easing them all out of his mind. It took excruciatingly long to achieve a completely blank state of mind, and Bellatrix wasn't making matters any easier.

"_Wands are merely a medium," Voldemort had said after he instructed Harry to close his eyes._

"_Their role is to assist us when summoning the magic that dwells deep within our core. The magic is lying dormant, awaiting to be summoned and put to use. It is always there; in your veins, your pulse, your very blood. It is not restricted by such a feeble concept as wands. Wish it, and your magic shall rise to the call."_

Harry had been doubtful, dismissing the entire notion before it had been given time to plant its tempting seeds deep within the recesses of his soul.

The thought of being able to perform a type of magic that only a mere handful of witches and wizards had tapped into was awfully accelerating.

Yet, despite the boundaries he had set on himself, it would have been foolish to deny that there was some truth behind Voldemort's words. And the proof remained solid and real just underneath his fingertips. He had been able to sense it; his magic was drumming beneath his skin, vibrating in steady jolts as if to persuade him if its existence.

And just like then, Harry's face nearly threatened to split into a wide smile. It was true.

Even now, his magic pulsated once he focused strongly enough on its presence. A heated sensation began spreading throughout his body, warming his insides pleasantly.

Voldemort leaned forward, intently observing the way the boy's hands were flexing, as if itching to be put into action. A deep rumble burst from his chest, eyes sliding close as he allowed his conscious to blend with the boy's, their minds merging effortlessly into one.

What he found caused his lips to quirk upwards.

His eyes snapped open, tongue peeking out to slither along his lower lip.

What a delectable little treasure he had in his possession.

"Not feeling up to it, sweetie?" Bellatrix cooed, "What would your measly little godfather say?"

Just like that, the tentative surge of magical power that had been building up seemed to evaporate into thin air.

Voldemort's eyes flashed in annoyance, his lips stretching into a thin line as the teen lunged at Bellatrix.

The black haired woman laughed loudly, sidestepping the hands that had targeted her throat and bouncing to the center of the room, arms flaring by her sides like a boisterous bird. Voldemort looked on as the boy chased after her before a low, impatient sound reverberated in his throat.

With a swipe of his arm he sent Harry sprawled on his back, relishing in the startled yelp that escaped the boy's mouth.

"How many times do I need to remind you to maintain your concentration?"

Disentangling his limbs, Harry sat upright. "You want me to concentrate?" he spat out, eyes ablaze, "Then get her out of my sight!"

Bellatrix merely grinned at him, earning a baleful glare in return.

Voldemort brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, just barely repressing a sigh. "Bella." The name was dismissal on its own.

The corner of her lips turning downcast into a frown, the witch bowed low beneath the waist before whirling on her heels and striding out of the room, wand returning in its holster strapped to her forearm.

Harry picked himself up and dusted off the sleeves of his navy blue jacket, aware all the time of the unrelenting stare that bore into him.

"You are aware, I hope, that you won't always find yourself capable of sustaining a calm mindset. There will come a time you might find yourself overwhelmed. It is crucial that you learn to focus disregarding of the situation."

"I can't!" Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "My magic always reacts best when I'm angry!"

"That is partially the shard's fault." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the armrests, gaze speculative as he looked on ahead. "Its rather aggressive nature, combined with your temperamental persona, acts as a trigger to your core and by extension, your magic."

"Brilliant," Harry rolled his eyes, not even bothering to rise to the little jibe about his temper. "Good to know. But how do I change that?"

Cold amusement flashed in those glittering orbs.

Deeply unnerved by the ominous look on Voldemort's face, Harry took an uncertain step backwards at the exact same time the man rose from his seat.

"How about a little experiment, Harry darling?"

Harry noted two things at once. First; endearment from the Dark Lord's lips had the opposite effect than its original purpose, and the fact that it was a rejuvenated, human Dark Lord was completely inconsequential. Two; he absolutely did _not _like the sound of that. And most of the times, his intuition had been correct.

"Experiment?" he echoed faintly, a feeling of dread settling in his gut.

A vague smile tilted Voldemort's lips.

The marking on the back of his hand shone a bright red, like a deep scorching mark was being singed into his flesh. In the blink of an eye, the Elder Wand materialized in his palm and deft digits were quick to wrap around it. Too stunned from the sudden entrance of the Hallow, Harry's delayed reflexes would be his undoing.

A non spoken incantation and a square motion of the deadly weapon later, and Harry staggered backwards, nearly toppling over from the way the floor quivered beneath his feet.

Back coming in harsh contact with something solid, it took Harry a couple of seconds to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

A square tank had been transfigured around him.

Mutely, Harry eyed the container, his befuddled brain distinctly noting it was made out of glass. Limbs shaking with escalating trepidation, he pushed away from the translucent surface.

Four steps; that's all it took to reach the other side of the tank.

Voldemort's gaze was far too attentive as he observed the teen's tentative explorations, consequently reminding Harry of the obsessed way a scientist would study a lab rat. Not appreciative in the slightest of the comparison, Harry banged his hand against the glass, fingers splayed out.

"What's the meaning of this?!"

Voldemort tutted softly, waving the Elder Wand admonishingly at him. "What have I told you about listening? You know how I loathe repeating myself."

Harry's teeth produced a menacing little noise when they gnashed together. "Get me out of here." he said lowly, feeling stuffily already.

"Out?" Voldemort shook his head, "Then where would be the point in experimenting?"

Harry's lips parted, but rather than the argument he had at the ready, a gasp spilled past. He jumped, head jerking downwards, not comprehending at first the stream of water that kept sprouting in a steady flow from the bottom. It did not take a genius to figure out why the tank had no opening at the top.

Water having already reached past his ankles, Harry sought out Voldemort's gaze, sensing something akin to panic start gnawing at his insides.

"I will try harder," he said in what he hoped was a placating tone, only now coming to terms with the man's mounted ire. "I'll put more effort into it, I swear, so just…stop this already."

It sounded more like a plea than he had originally intended.

The wizard's hard expression not once let up, nor did he present any signs of having heard him in the least.

His jeans were sticking painfully tight against his legs, the water drenching the fabric making it seem as if it weighted tons. Goosebumps rose over his skin, the chill of the soaked clothing extending all the way to his bones. He shivered yet again as the stream gained a boost in power, the water that had been swaying back and forth just above his knees suddenly climbing all the way up to his thighs.

Harry slumped against a glassy wall, an arm coming up to press the heel of his palm into the side of his temple.

So this was the Dark Lord's answer.

Submerged from the waist down in water, his body felt incredibly drained all of a sudden, too heavy for him to even attempt moving.

Why did Voldemort have to be so much for the extremes? Wasn't there ever a middle ground for him?

He lowered his arm and eyed the liquid making its way upwards to his abdomen warily. Ever since the second task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, he had been implanted with the unconceivable urge to not remain under the water for long. Last year, putting his knowledge of the Prefects' bath into use, he had ventured there one night after founding for the first time ever the atmosphere in his dormitory nearly suffocating to bear.

To his started dismay, however, he discovered the hard way that a calming hot bath might not have been the best of options…

Not ten minutes inside the water, Harry had leapt out of the pool size tub, no longer able to withstand the constricting pressure behind his chest. With all the frustration that had been steadily piling up over the months, Harry had resolutely made the decision to not delve into the matter, too shaken up if he were to discover more flaws to his person.

Just how more cracks would he be able to withstand before he shattered?

Chewing the inside of his cheek to shake off his self-induced stupor, Harry braised both hands behind him and slid his eyes shut.

He really doubted that Voldemort was going to let him drown, despite the look of things. He was still the vessel of a precious part of the man's soul, after all. But that didn't mean Voldemort was going to make it easy for him, quite the contrary actually. He despised weakness of any sort. And watching a piece of himself, no matter how small, behaving so helplessly vulnerable was bound to tick him off at some point, urge him to rectify and mould that piece until it acted precisely as it was supposed to.

And as usual, Harry's personal opinion on the matter was of no consequence.

His eyes snapped open when his next intake of air filled his nostrils with liquid.

He spluttered, multiple bubbles leaving his mouth instead of sound. Harry cast his eyes to the surface, his entire body growing rigid; there was no more space left between the water and the top of the container.

Vision blurry, he kicked his legs, one hand rising to keep his head from hitting the glass above when his now weightless body floated up.

…Was he seriously expected to practice in a situation like this?

Free hand clasping over his mouth as firmly as possible, green eyes swept about, striving to discern Voldemort's shape and scowled when he kept coming up empty handed. Kicking to rotate himself within the water, Harry's hand flew away from his mouth and the shout he'd have given came in the form of more bubbles.

Sometime ago, the Dark Lord had relocated, dissatisfied with the amount of space that separated them apparently. When Harry turned around, it was only the thin pane of glass that stretched between himself and Voldemort.

Taking tight hold of his violent surprise and morphing it into anger, Harry banged his fist on the glass right in front of Voldemort's face.

The man traced his balled hand with his gaze, inspecting it almost curiously.

Enraged at being so blatantly ignored and just a little bit panicky, Harry growled in his thoughts, _'Tom!'_

Red eyes jerked to his face, the dark promise in the narrowed pupils driving Harry to remove his hand from the surface with a cringe, overcome by the image of having it bitten. _'Get me out.' _he pressed, non the less, too far in to back down now.

He was nearly out of air.

Voldemort didn't bat an eye, and Harry cursed how unfair it was for the man to have such effortless access to his thoughts while he couldn't get even a glimpse of that vast, labyrinth of a mind. Moreover, the Dark Lord's mask was so immaculately constructed that Harry felt a glimmer of pride whenever he was able to catch a fleeting emotion on that face. Usually it was the eyes that provided him with the hint he needed; Voldemort might have sculpted the perfect façade to flaunt about, but from what Harry had gathered, his eyes were always the hardest to guard.

And so, looking at him now, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that the miniscule curl of those lips was completely intentional. The insinuation behind it was plenty to drive Harry dangerously close to the edge.

The bastard was enjoining this.

Harry thrashed, kicking reflexively but there was no upwards to swim to. Bubbles exited his mouth while water entered his nose, and he was choking, the combined sensation stinging his throat. He could almost feel his lungs constricting and then unshrinking, frantic in their attempt to pump oxygen through him.

Then, the next moment, they were no longer shrinking, already filled with the water Harry had breathed, and even the bubbles had become scarce.

His back connected with the hard bottom and started as he was, Harry could not force his eyelids to blink, couldn't twitch a single muscle. His body was so immensely heavy that Harry felt numb, painfully so.

The glassy surface disappeared beneath him. A single moment was all he had to register this change before the water, no longer contained, came crushing right into his body.

The force was so great that Harry's back arched off the floor in a precise imitation of a bow, lips parting.

Pure instinct took its toll from then on. Harry claimed inhalation after inhalation, a strangled whimper leaving his throat as sensation slowly returned to him. He felt like he had been beaten to a pulp, to the point he expected bruises to form all over his torso and legs, where most of the water had hit.

Fingers, long and unbearably warm on his icy skin, enveloped his throat in a grip loose enough for him to breathe but threatening to tighten at a moment's notice. In addition, a body settled above him, its weight supported by two sturdy thighs at either side of his legs.

"Too much for a start, perhaps?" Voldemort said, his face so close that inky strands brushed against Harry's cheeks, their touch so soft that bordered on whispery. "It certainly lacked the effect I desired."

This was too much…

Harry still hadn't recovered from the previous shock, and Voldemort was planning to force another of his demented experiments on him for sure.

"Get off me…" he whispered, voice too scratchy for his liking.

Voldemort's head tilted to the side almost imperceptibly, the feigned wonder clashing contradictorily with the sadistic amusement crinkling in those ruby depths.

"Have I scared my little treasure?"

Yes, Harry had felt scared. In that brief moment in the tank, where the realization of how much the Dark Lord enjoyed his suffering had sunk in, he had been terrified. The man had watched him struggle, seen the breath leaving his body little by little and only stepped in when he was certain that Harry was a second away from drowning.

He wasn't scared of the man, per se, but the extent to which he was willing to go in order to curb his twistingly sadistic streak.

In response, as if seeking to confirm his musings, the pale digits abandoned their snug hold and began coiling around his neck, causing Harry's breath to hitch. Quivery arms rose to Voldemort's chest, pushing weakly.

"Tom, s-stop." he choked out, pupils proportionally blown.

Voldemort's grip didn't strengthen, but Harry could already feel the fight seeping out of him.

The gulps of air allowed past weren't nearly enough and he felt like he was back in the tank, drowning all over. Vicious little shudders racked his spine, adamantly refusing to relive that process again, his brain eradicating the mere suggestion of it. His fingers stretched outwards on Voldemort's shirt covered chest, a surge of heat spreading over his palms as the man was forcefully pushed back a couple of inches, long enough for his grasp to slacken.

For the second time in just a few minutes, Harry found himself inhaling air like a starved man.

Voldemort hummed, moving his hands to either side of Harry's head instead. "Congratulations on learning to operate on another emotion, darling. Fear, is now at your disposal."

Harry choked on his last intake of oxygen.

Fingers burrowing in the older wizard's shirt, he clung on as a coughing fit tore his throat raw.

A small, pained moan slipped past his lips once it finally subsided.

"Let me get this straight…" he muttered darkly, "You put me through all of _that_, simply because you wanted me to learn to activate my wandless magic with an emotion other than anger?"

"Charming little plan, wasn't it?" Voldemort whispered back, breath fanning over Harry's face. "Look at the wanders it worked."

Harry gave a dry chuckle. "You want me to go insane, isn't that it? So you can control me?"

Voldemort smiled down at him, a haughty and ominous smile that had the youth's mental alarms flare up. "You will not break so easily, my treasure. I made certain to create you that way."

"What are you talking about?" Harry hissed.

"Do you deny that throughout the course of your life I was the one main factor that shaped you the way you are now?" Voldemort leaned closer, hands enclosing over the ones that Harry still had clenched in his shirt, "You are my own creation. You have been marked by me in more ways than the Horcrux in your scar."

Long fingers stroked over his, the action so gentle and soothing that it distracted Harry for a moment, "I own everything that you are, my treasure."

He tried to dislodge Voldemort's grip, but vainly. "Let go."

At the unimpressed look he was given, Harry sagged against the floor. "Why don't you try obsessing over Bellatrix or something? Your fixation with me can't be healthy."

"Oh, I certainly could but you see, I happen to find your reactions more refreshing than anyone's. For example, I know if I do this…" he guided an index finger on the underside of one of Harry's wrists, above his artery, and dragged it excruciatingly slow in a straight, curt line that traced the path of his pulse.

Harry shivered from head to toe, legs curling beneath him.

"Simply exquisite," Voldemort purred, tongue slithering along his lower lip.

Harry's gaze fixated on the motion, heat rushing to his face once he realized exactly what he had done. For the first time, he actually paid mind to the position they were in.

Oh, God…

He couldn't deal with this right now. How much shock was his poor body supposed to take in just a few hours?

Three consequential knocks sounded from the door.

Harry, ears burning up at the prospect of someone walking in on this particular scene, yelled out, "Don't!" at the same time Voldemort responded with a calm, "Enter."

Barty Crouch Jr. walked briskly inside, bowing his head low before his Master.

Harry let his head drop back to the ground, groaning lowly in resignation.

"The Outer Circle have assembled, my Lord. They're waiting to give their reports."

"Good," were all that Voldemort said, lifting himself up and hauling a protesting Harry to his feet before dragging him over to Barty, ignoring the teen's grumbles at being manhandled.

"Escort Potter to one of the guest chambers. He requires a bath. I have already performed a Freshening Charm on his clothes so a clean change wouldn't be needed. Afterwards, take him to the cellar."

"Supper will be delivered shortly to you." This part was directed at Harry.

Supper? Exactly how long had they been stuck in this room?

"I don't want food." And it was the truth. He wasn't particularly hungry.

He turned to Barty, "Can you take me to Snape? I could really use a Pepper-Up right now."

The brunet arched a single eyebrow, casting a silent look in the Dark Lord's direction.

The glare he was rewarded with needed no interpretation.

"Right," he said, nodding to himself. He grabbed hold of Harry's wrist and proceeded towards the door, "A bath and then cellar it is for you, Potter."

Voldemort turned to the centre of the room, regarding mutely the small pod of water that had gathered on the marble floor. What should he prepare for tomorrow then?

From down the hallway, Harry's loud yell made the walls appear to be paper thin, "What the hell is wrong with you people?! I can walk perfectly fine on my own, you know!"

He waved his hand in one smooth, swift swipe and the water was gone.

Something absolutely exhausting, it would seem.

His little Horcrux had too much energy reserved for his own good.

**END OF CHAPTER TWELVE**

**I noticed that most of my previous chapters had a rather angsty ending, so I decided to end this on a lighter note for a change. ^^**

**If there are any questions for the chapter don't hesitate to ask!**


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN **

Harry tilted his head backwards, palm over his eyes while he allowed himself the luxury of counting to ten; slowly, very, very slowly.

By the time he opened his eyes again, Voldemort had already changed Hedwig's cage back to its normal proportions. He had lost count how many times he had unwittingly shrunk it in the past two and a half hours.

"Sorry, girl." he murmured apologetically, dutifully accepting the owl's irritant hooting and clicking of the beak.

If the monotonous prickling behind his scar wasn't suggestive enough, Harry could practically sense the burning pair of eyes boring into his back. His shoulders slumped. Bracing himself for the unavoidable, he turned towards Voldemort, overcome suddenly by the irrational urge to scuffle his shoe on the cell's floor; feeling chastised enough by that single look.

Voldemort was drumming his fingers on the armrest of the high backed chair he had conjured inside Harry's cell; the mental image reminding the teen for the umpteenth time a king of the medieval times, waiting impatiently in the torture chamber for the moment his victim would finally break and spill all the information he needed to know.

"Glare all you want. It won't change the fact I have no bloody idea what it is I'm doing wrong."

The rhythmic beat suddenly increased in frenzy, accelerating Harry's pulse along with it.

His body ached in the various places Voldemort had struck him with a Stinging Hex each time he failed to do it right, and while in no way it rivaled the wizard's Cruciatus, he felt sore all over.

"You're not handling a wand, Potter." the Dark Lord growled, red eyes ablaze and Harry could not thank the heavens enough that no more hexes had come hurtling his way.

"It's not what you are doing wrong, but rather what you are _trying _to do. How many times have you attempted to cast the _Expelliarmus _spell? Twenty? In all honesty, I ceased keeping count around the sixteenth reoccurrence."

"Twenty five, actually." mumbled Harry, cringing as the drumming abruptly halted.

"I was hoping you would realize on your own exactly how fruitless your efforts were proving when all they resulted to where random bursts of magic that had absolutely no relation whatsoever to your specific spell of choice."

He felt impressed that a person was capable of saying all that in just one breath.

"Harry!"

Jumping slightly, he looked up from where he had been toying with the hem of his T-shirt.

As nonchalant as Voldemort's face appeared to be, his eyes were simply furious. "Did you listen to a single word I uttered?"

Harry blinked. "You know, it'd actually help if you told me what your point is."

The Elder Wand was clasped between deft fingers in a matter of milliseconds.

Blanching, Harry fell sideways just in time to avoid the nonverbal spell Voldemort sent. The dark marble floor was smoking where it hit. Just what sort of Curse had the man been planning to cast on him?!

Lifting himself from the floor, Harry had only gotten his footing back for a single second before he was swept off his feet again. His breath left his lungs in one sharp exhalation, the force with which his body slammed against the wall momentarily causing his eyes to roll back into his head.

Voldemort stood before him, his free arm outstretched and brow furrowed into a fierce scowl. Long, pale fingers slowly started curling inwards.

Harry's eyes shot wide open when with every additional inch, more pressure was applied to his throat, as though there were actual, corporeal fingers wrapped around his neck, suffocating him at their leisure.

"Do you see me waving my wand, Harry? Do you hear me casting any incantations? No, and do you know why?" Voldemort took a few steps closer, bridging the distance between them to a more acceptable level. "Because you foolish, deluded boy, wandless magic is about intent and one's pure willpower. Right now I wish to crush you more than anything, and my magic strives to do as I please."

He curled his fingers further, and Harry's knees buckled beneath him. He slid down the wall, his windpipe almost completely out of oxygen.

"However," Voldemort's forehead smoothed out, the wrinkles marring his skin only a short while ago now completely extinguished, "if you are careless enough, you might just get carried away and exhaust you magical core, which inevitably, will leave you as nothing more than a squib."

He lowered his arm, fingers growing lax again by his side, and Harry was abruptly thrown into a coughing fit that scorched his throat with its intensity.

"It sickens me that a person embedded with a piece of my soul can be so ridiculously weak."

Harry's head jerked upwards, but Voldemort was already walking away from him.

"I'm. Not. WEAK." he hissed, as loud as his throat would allow, counting on the void cellar's echo to carry his voice across the room.

"What are you doing on your knees, then?" Voldemort snapped back, pivoting on his heel to look at Harry. "Get yourself up and persuade me otherwise." He turned, reclaiming his seat, gaze locking with the teen's once again. "You have proven you possess the potential of wandless magic, Harry. You better not disappoint me again when you have already shown me you are capable of so much more."

Hands braced against his knees, Harry froze.

He hung his head, refusing to allow the Dark Lord to see his flaming face. It was alarming and way too scary the amount of pride he felt from a single praise, despite how disguised said praise actually was.

'_Shit!' _Harry ran his fingers through black strands of hair, _'Not good, not good!'_

That damned shard! What the hell was it feeling so flustered for?! Ever since Voldemort had assembled back whatever pieces of soul he had been left, the Horcrux inside Harry was giving him too much trouble. Before, the times he had actually felt that foreign presence were few, and all of them imprinted bitterly in Harry's mind.

That one time he had blown up his uncle's sister, that other time he had taken his ire out on his best friends last year when he had been taken to the Headquarters for the first time…when he wanted to rip Dumbledore's throat out after the attack on …

They were all times he had sensed a darkness deep within him, powerful and cruel, and instead of shutting it back inside, he gave in and embraced it.

He was terrified of the things he could do under the influence of the Horcrux.

He fell back against the wall behind him, gaze wandering lazily about the dungeon. A week had gone by since Voldemort's little experiment with the tank, and the progress he had made was bleak and discouraging. Under Voldemort's tutelage, he had been practicing every day in this cell, only able to tell the passage of time by the man's visits.

The torches inside his cell burnt non-stop, their flames never dying out, and since there were no windows he could never tell when it was day or night. Feeling too drained after each session, Harry would fall asleep shortly after Voldemort's departure and awaken by the wizard himself on the next day. The Dark Lord never allowed Hedwig out of her cage, on each visit refilling the bottom of her silvery home with dead rodents, and if Harry did particularly well during their practice session, Hedwig was given a big fat, juicy rat as a treat.

He felt sorry for his owl, responsible as he was for her imprisonment and denial of her right to roam the skies, but he had never felt more grateful for her presence. He would always curl one of his arms around her cage before letting sleep claim him, fingers snaking between glittery bars and his precious companion, before going to sleep herself, would carefully curl her talons around his digits.

As though snobbishly, afterwards, she would just bury her head beneath her snowy feathers and wouldn't so much as glance at him for the duration of his rest, considering her duty over and done with for the time.

He exhaled heavily through the nose, pushing away from his resting spot against the stone wall and rising to his feet. The depressing course his thoughts had started to take actually proved to be of value; it gave him an idea.

All this time he had been feeding his magic whatever kind of emotion he could get his hands on, but he was always combining it with a nonverbal incantation. However, Voldemort said he was going at it all wrong. Then, what if he were to treat his wandless magic the way he treated the Patronus charm? Sure, he had activated his wandless magic through anger in the past – like the time with his Muggle aunt, or yet again at Hogwarts a while back when Bellatrix wouldn't remove the Cruciatus from Hermione – but what if, like the requirements of the Patronus, he were to use emotion through the memories he had?

Harry spun around, his wide grin only broadening upon meeting Voldemort's satisfied curl of the lips.

The Dark Lord gestured sharply with his arm and Harry complied, closing his eyes to start the meditating process over. It was still taking him a while to complete this meticulous phase, especially after Voldemort had stressed the importance of it, but at least now he was finding it less tiresome to empty all thoughts from his head except of the one about gaining access to his magical core.

Once he felt the pulsing of his magic, so much like a second heartbeat pounding behind his own, he went on in search of a suitable memory. He wanted a pleasant one this time. It mustn't be healthy for his magic to mostly activate via negative emotions.

"_Harry!" Hermione chided through her laughter as he continued toying with her hair while using his other hand to toss around the braided piece that hung from Ron's cap._

_Finally letting himself laugh out loud at Ron's comic expression, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak off of him._

"_Blimey, Harry, that wasn't funny!" the redhead exclaimed, but when the other two failed to muffle their obvious disagreement, Ron's lips parted to let out a chuckle or two himself. _

_They turned towards the direction Malfoy and his lackeys had bolted off, which was as far away from the Shrieking Shack as possible, before sharing a look between them that sent all three into hysterics. _

Perhaps he needed something stronger, though? He couldn't know for sure if having fun with his friends was actually enough. For a Patronus it would have done the job, but wandless magic was more demanding, right? A memory with deeper meaning, then?

…Deeper meaning…

His brows creased together dubiously. Would it work? To him, it was important enough.

He concentrated, careful not to think of any spells this time, just the result he wanted. He used the memory, feeling his chest tighten each time he played it over in his mind. He was persistent, though. As painful as it was to relive the memory, the emotions the incident had evoked in him were only precious ones. And that's exactly what he counted on.

"What _now_?" Voldemort's irked, rhetorical inquisition snapped Harry's concentration cleanly in half.

Rubbing his aching temples, the raven haired teen gazed around the expanse of space, disappointed and discouraged yet again when he noted nothing out of the ordinary. Well, at least there were no freak accidents, so he supposed it wasn't a total waste of stamina.

Footsteps, rushed and pounding, could be heard above them, causing Harry to stare upwards at the ceiling before looking down at Voldemort.

The Dark wizard was pinching the bridge of his nose in a fashion that Harry had caught him doing frequently when frustrated. He wondered if it was some sort of old habit. And actually _having_ a nose did make the task a lot easier to perform.

Narrowed scarlet eyes jerked to his face so fast that Harry choked on his own inhaled breath.

Voldemort unfolded his legs, not blinking once as he stood and approached Harry, black robe soundlessly flapping at his sides as he walked.

He took hold of the boy's chin, raising it up with his thumb and index finger. "Perhaps you require a short respite. You will provide me with far more fetching results after you have recovered some of your energy…" his grip tightened, the nail of his thumb digging painfully into Harry's skin, "won't you, my treasure?"

Harry winced when the man applied more pressure, certain the skin had broken this time. "I'll try again."

Seemingly appeased, Voldemort sauntered over to the entrance, the iron bars of the cell sliding open to grant him passage. Itching to get a glimpse of anything that wasn't the dungeon, Harry hurried to fall in step with the man. Considering that the bars hadn't closed behind Voldemort, he gathered it was acceptable to venture outside.

"You might want to find a different method of punishment." Harry surprised himself by saying, "Otherwise, I'll start to think you've got some sort of neck fetish."

Voldemort's movements didn't falter, but he cast Harry a strange look over his shoulder. "Neck fetish?" he repeated slowly, as though he had misheard.

"Well, yeah." Harry ran a finger up and down his throat, wincing ever so lightly. "I've lost count how many times you've tried to strangle me so far. If it weren't for Snape's healing salve my neck would be black and blue by now."

Voldemort made a thoughtful sound deep within his throat. "That's exaggerating it a little, don't you think? However, if a little variety is what you seek, who am I to deny you?" His voice was practically _dripping_ with sarcasm, making Harry grimace. "You have been making progress, though, punishments aside. Convenient as our current workplace may be, I believe it is due time you were moved to more appropriate quarters." He paused, humming quietly to himself. "One of the guest chambers, perhaps? I did promise I take good care of my possessions."

Harry bristled. "I'm not a blasted object, and I certainly aren't a guest in this place!"

"…I shall take that as a no, then."

Voldemort climbed the last step, pausing just a few feet inside the drawing room and Harry didn't think twice before he sidestepped the wizard. The man could take all bloody day to deal with whatever his followers had done for all Harry cared. It suited him fabulously, in fact. If the Death Eaters were here that meant the meeting chambers would be empty.

Good. He really needed a window, even if it was just to look outside. He was feeling suffocated all of a sudden.

Something kept crunching quietly beneath his feet and he glared down at the ground, almost immediately halting mid-step. He lowered his foot, staring in stunned silence at the deep green strands of turf that surrounded his shoes. Blinking slowly, he lifted his head to glance around the room.

"Wow," was all that he could come up with.

When did Voldemort decide to grow a meadow in the drawing room of his Headquarters? Not that he complained; the place could really use some brightening up. It just…didn't seem like the Dark Lord's style, at all. Far from it, actually. He took notice of the Death Eaters for the first time, gathered in front of the still open double doors, like they had been in too much of a hurry to bother close them.

Frowning at their identical expressions of bewilderment, his gaze sought the Dark Lord's form, intrigued when the man bent to pluck out one of the many flowers that had grown amidst the grass.

He surveyed it closely, handling the closed bud with utmost care and caution.

With the inspection obviously over, crimson eyes centered on him, a slight upturn quirking the corner of his mouth. Mutely, the Dark Lord held out his hand and the flower bud obediently rose in the air, gliding smoothly over to Harry. Perplexed, and a tad disturbed, the teen let it perch on the back of his fingers where it stayed, perfectly balanced and steady.

"What is it?" he asked after a while, positive there was a specific motive behind the gesture. He really had trouble thinking that the wizard gave him the flower simply because he thought it was beautiful.

Scoffing as he undoubtedly caught that last bit, Voldemort pointed at the bud. "Proof."

"Proof?" echoed Harry uncertainly, "Proof of what?"

"That I am never wrong. You _are _capable of much more."

Harry was stumped. The collective intake of breath from the Death Eaters seemed to reverberate around them, magnified by the silence that stretched out.

He gingerly cradled the bud in his palm, staring at it dubiously. "This is mine?" he asked softly, "I did all this?" There was no reply to any of his questions, not that he had expected any to be frank. Voldemort had already made his judgment, that much was clear. But Harry still hesitated. His wandless magic had never responded to his will so perfectly before, presenting him with the exact results he wished.

The bud tingled suddenly in his hand, and he dropped it with a gasp, shuddering from head to toe at the warmth that spread through him.

A warmth that was strangely familiar…

He kneeled down on the grass, gathering the bud and holding it carefully between his closed palms. Mere seconds later, the flower pulsated again, sending another wave of that pleasant sensation throughout his body and causing him to hum in appreciation. He separated his hands, staring at the bud in a whole new perspective. He could feel his magic within the not-quite-yet flower. He could sense it as though it was emanating from deep inside his core, like it was still a part of him.

The flower bud appeared to shiver in his hand, and right before his eyes, it parted slowly. Petals began stretching out, elongated and white. He shut his eyes, a sweet aroma tingling his nose. He knew before he saw it what kind of flower had been born from the small bud.

"A lily," he whispered, smiling. "I really did it."

Like his mother, when she had transfigured that lily flower into Slughorn's fish, he too, had given life.

He laughed, he couldn't help it.

Stretching his arms upwards, he threw the flower into the air, breaking into a grin when it remained airborne, spinning in circles above his head. He knew he was laughing like a little kid, but he just felt so overwhelmingly giddy; it was like discovering the existence of magic all over again.

He buried his hands in the grass around him, weaving his fingers through the green threads and laughing again when he felt the resonating pulse, like the grass itself was alive. He flicked a nearby closed bud as gently as he could, grinning widely once it bloomed to life upon his touch.

Like a chain reaction, all of the flowers in the little meadow began spreading their petals and Harry jumped to his feet, spinning on the spot as he watched them bloom into lilies one by one.

"Amazing," he whispered breathlessly, "Magic is amazing."

A couple of feet away, Severus Snape staggered backwards, onyx eyes unseeing as they stared on ahead, only vaguely aware that someone had taken hold of his forearm and was shaking him.

"Severus!" came the hissed, urgent call of his name and he turned by pure instinct, meeting the steely, gray eyes of his long time friend.

"Are you alright?" Lucius asked, his stony mask giving way for a frown when he failed to respond.

Blinking rapidly, he schooled his features into something more appropriate than a deer caught in the headlights. He righted his stance, shaking off the other man's hold. "Fine. A little surprised is all."

"Is that what you call a little?"

He shot him a sidelong glare, and the blond wisely shut his mouth, but not before allowing a chuckle to slip past.

"Father," Draco whispered fervently by Lucius' side, his gaze not once extracting from the centre of the room. "Is this really Potter's doing?"

Lucius redirected his attention from his son to the single other teen, watching with undisguised fascination as he made the soaring flower twirl in a spiral pattern down the length of his outstretched arm, his eyes alive with emotion. It was a sight that possessed its own type of magic.

"Yes, it would seem so, Draco."

His son spoke no further after that short affirmation, but the awe in his eyes spoke volumes on its own and admittedly, it worried Lucius to a degree that hadn't reached alarming quite yet. He surely hoped this development didn't alter Draco's view of Potter more than it should, because one thing he could swear with utmost certainty was that their Lord didn't like to share.

And if the gleam in the man's eyes was anything to go by, he held little doubt that after this display, Potter's leash was going to shorten more.

"Oh, please." Bellatrix scowled, "Don't tell me that little twerp's got you fooled by his little show." Her curved wand was already cradled between her fingers.

"Bella," Narcissa muttered warningly, grasping her sister's wand arm and squeezing firmly.

"No, Cissy!" Bellatrix hissed, swatting away her hand and taking a step to the side, away from arm's reach. "Someone's got to show that brat the harsh facts of reality." Mind already made, the witch raised her wand and before anyone could stop her, she waved it in a sharp arc above her head.

In the blink of an eye, the lily that was dancing in little circles around Potter sped off across the room and into her awaiting hand.

The rest of the Inner Circle spun instantly to face her, warring expressions of puzzlement, disapproval and excitement displaying on their faces. Potter appeared a little dazed at first, unable to pinpoint the missing flower until he noted the source of everyone else's attention.

Grinning once she had his undivided focus, she grasped one of the petals and dangled it in front of her face, waving it as though to beckon a dog over. "Looking for this, Potty?"

His only answer was only a narrowing of the eyes.

Now, that wouldn't do.

"Flowers? Really, brat? You act like you achieved something because of some stupid flowers?" She sneered, scrunching up her face. "You're nothing but a child, with a childish mind. A child who still thinks that little rainbows and sunshine have a place in this world."

"Bella, stop!" her husband growled next to her, but she paid him no mind.

"Wanna know what's gonna happen to little babies like you?" she cooed, smiling sharply, never noticing how the strands of grass around them had started turning black as they withered.

"Rodolphus, shut her fucking mouth!" Barty hissed angrily, the tip of his tongue sliding along his lower lip in agitation.

Eying the approaching mass of dead plant life, Rodolphus hurried to grip one of his wife's arms, his brother doing the same with the other, only for Bellatrix to skillfully spin away from their hands, her black dress dancing wildly around her. Grinning from ear to ear in sheer enjoyment, Bellatrix tossed the lily as high as it'd go before sending a red jet of light in its direction. The moment they came into contact, the flower burst into fiery flames that turned into red, glittery sparkles as soon as they started to descend.

Rodolphus chanced a glance to the floor, taking an instinctive step backwards. Not that it was of any help when the black turf had already spread in every corner of the room.

Their Lord on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed with the decayed grass beneath his feet. Arms folded over his shirt covered chest, he was leaning against the wall with a passive expression, eyes intent on the raven haired teen before him.

The look in those crimson depths didn't bide too well for anyone.

"You stupid woman!" Barty grumbled under his breath, edging as far away as possible from Bellatrix.

Bellatrix merely scoffed at him.

"You do not provoke a person who has yet to tame his bursts of magic!" Lucius yelled, face set into a fierce scowl. "Haven't you learnt that after all the times he has blasted you away?!"

"Exactly my point, dear Lucius!" Bellatrix crooned, "Even those outbursts were like a child throwing a tantrum. This is an adults' world, not a playground!"

"An adults' world, huh?" Everyone turned as one at the sound of the voice, but Potter wouldn't do them the favor of looking away from the ground, brushing a withered, dry lily aside with his shoe. "Then how about I give it to you the adults' way; simple and to the point?"

They all became rooted to the spot, unable to move under the familiar, piercing crimson stare. Pupils dilated into thin slits and irises a deep, livid red, it took them a marginal while to connect those eyes with Harry Potter's face.

The dead lily by his feet burst suddenly and roots erupted out of the husky, tattered petals. They twisted together, circling and enveloping each other until they finally merged into one thick vine. It slithered on the ground, reaching the boy's shoe and climbing up the clothed leg. They followed its procession upwards, seemingly enamored, as it coiled around Potter's waist briefly before it continued its journey all the way up around his torso where it paused at the shoulders.

It didn't stop growing, though. The vine rose to hover high above Potter, swaying like a cobra preparing to strike.

Potter's lips curled into a smile that was all edges, and as if it was issued a voiced command, the vine sprouted thorns as black as the rest of it before it lunged.

Preservation instincts kicking in, they all jumped aside to avoid its deadly path, but it appeared to have one target alone in mind. With lightning fast speed, it wrapped around Bellatrix's throat, causing the witch to cry out as the talon like thorns dag into her flesh. Elongating further, it dragged the thrashing woman across the floor and swiftly slammed her against the nearest wall, her skull producing a gruesome cracking sound that had half of the audience cringing.

Bellatrix fell quiet, her body growing limp in the vine's hold. Almost simultaneously, the vine released her completely, retracting to let her motionless form fall into a heap of tangled limbs.

With a full body shudder, it shrank in length, lowering back to uncoil quickly from Potter's body before it disappeared into the ground.

Silence, thick and palpable, veiled the entire room as Potter slowly made his way over to Bellatrix, bending to grab her chin non too gently, fingers steadily growing redder from the blood that was trickling down her face. Upon contact, Bellatrix jolted awake but other than fluttering open her eyelids she made no movement.

"This is the last time, Bellatrix." Potter whispered sweetly, "Touch anything that belongs to me ever again, and I'll show you exactly how strong a fuel my hatred is. I've already cast one Unforgivable for your glorious self; what's one, little Avada if it means ridding myself of you?" Smiling a soft, gentle smile that was so out of place when combined with those vicious eyes, Potter smashed her head backwards, rendering her unconscious once more.

"Narcissa Malfoy," he called out, rising smoothly to his feet.

Not knowing what to make of this Harry Potter, Narcissa contemplated ignoring him, but in the end, driven from her sister's welfare, she stepped forward.

Potter wiped his hand clean on the fabric of his trousers, observing her lazily. "I don't see how you can stomach familial bonds with a creature this vile, but if you care for her in the slightest, you better hope she doesn't cross me again."

"Take her away, Narcissa," the Dark Lord intoned sharply, pushing away from the wall, "before she dies from blood loss."

Bowing gratefully her head, Narcissa hurried over to her sister, Severus by her side.

"Hello, my Horcrux." Voldemort greeted softly, rounding on the teen. "Pleasing as it is to know you grow stronger after extended periods of time in my presence, I would like you to grant control of that body back to its owner."

Identical red eyes narrowed, the slit like pupils becoming more pronounced. "Excuse me?"

He heaved a sigh, "I happen to have plans for the boy, but he will not be of much use sleeping his days away to recover all the vital energy that you wasted so foolishly."

"Is that what you think of yourself?"

"For someone claiming to be me, you played astoundingly well the part of the fool." Voldemort rebuked, lips curving downwards, "You acted thoughtlessly, in spite of knowing how taxing further use of wandless magic would be for Harry's body."

"Such prompt concern for my landlord," his Horcrux grinned toothily, "And in case it has slipped your mind, I _am_ you."

"Correction; you used to be me. I doubt even _you_ know who you are anymore."

"Coming from you," the boy seethed, "other me, that was the stupidest thing I've heard."

Voldemort tipped his head to the side, keen eyes flickering over the other's face. "Was it, really? You have been with Harry his entire life, minus the first few months. It is safe to assume he has shaped you according to his morals and beliefs, rather than the other way around."

"That's ridiculous!" the Horcrux snarled, features contorting in a furious grimace.

"So much so," Voldemort went on, unabashed, "that the single use I have for you now, is as a means to preserve an infinite connection with your host."

Harry's body reared back as if physically struck, the Horcrux's eyes wide. "You can't possibly mean that." he breathed out.

Voldemort chuckled, the sound only barely audible. "I wonder about that. _Now, do not make me repeat myssself. Grant control of that body back to itsss owner!"_

Harry's teeth grinded together so harshly, that the motion actually reached Voldemort's ear. The Horcrux fought for control, but faced with a direct order from the original soul it was obvious how difficult that was proving to be. He trudged back a couple of steps, eyes wild as he clutched his head in a vice grip, hissing obscenities that had the rest of the room's occupants grow wary. They couldn't hope to decipher Parseltongue, but they certainly gathered the general animosity in the air.

The Horcrux tossed back his head, emitting a primal shout that sounded eerily similar to a wounded animal before falling abruptly quiet.

"Harry?" Voldemort prompted, pleased to find the boy's conscious slowly returning to him.

Harry's head snapped down, casting a pair of heterochromatic eyes his way. One belonged undoubtedly to the Horcrux, but the other was vivid green with a normal, round pupil.

The Dark Lord arched a single eyebrow, noting the utter blankness that was reigning inside Harry's mind as the teen gazed around in a stupor.

He stepped forward, instantly drawing the teen's attention.

Harry eyed him distrustfully, confused more than ever. "What's going on?" he said at last, looking at the husky, black grass around him. What the hell happened to this place? This definitely wasn't how he recalled it last. His brow creased together, distraught when he discovered the blanks in his memory. He had no recollection of how the entire meadow turned out like this!

'_I took it upon myssself to sssettle a few mattersss you were ssstruggling with.'_

Harry's head swiveled towards the Dark Lord. That voice had sounded exactly like him, not to mention the sibilant hissing was a dead give away. As he studied him, though, the man appeared awfully calm, like he hadn't just spoken inside Harry's mind.

Groaning, he put a hand to his head, seriously questioning his mental health.

'_Exactly how low isss your ssself-esssteem?'_

"Did you say that?" Harry narrowed his eyes at Voldemort, a sickening feeling settling deep in his gut.

Voldemort cocked his head, merely blinking back.

'_Guesss again,'_

"Where the heck are you?!" Harry shouted, exasperated that he was keep hearing voices but couldn't find the source.

'_That'sss becaussse you're looking in all the wrong placesss. How about delving a little deeper?' _

Harry's entire body grew rigid. He twisted, looking at the room again, gaze landing on the wall to his side and he nearly stumbled in his haste to step away. Red liquid was smeared all over the wall, some of it still fresh and sliding downwards to add in the dark red miniature pond on the floor. He brought a quivering hand up, staring in mute horror at the smudged blood on his skin.

"…What did you make me do?"

'_Nothing that you didn't desssire. Or did you already forget your intent to sssee Bellatrix Lessstrange dead? Ssso awfully sssweet, more powerful than the hatred you fed me for Dumbledore. I merely acted upon your deepessst wissshesss.'_

"What do you know about my wishes, you parasite?!" Harry growled lowly, "I want to see her suffer, yes, but it was never my intention to kill her! Murder…" he faltered, eyes screwing shut. "can only create monsters." He shook his head, glaring at the bloody mess before him. "But I'll be damned if I let you turn me into one."

'_What are you doing?'_

Harry ignored it, hands clenching into fists by his sides. He breathed deeply, willing himself to calm. "Get back to whatever dark corner you slithered out of."

'_No! I won't be ordered by the likesss of you!'_

"This is my body. Now get the hell out of my head!" He pictured the entity, a little black sphere, miniature compared to his own soul and forced it back, burying it into the farthest corners of his mind where it had no control and no purpose but to lie dormant; a mere specter that could only watch.

'_You ssstupid boy! Ssstop!'_

'_GET OUT!' _Harry screamed inside his head, the Horcrux echoing the sentiment with a cry of its own, pouring into it all the loathing its existence possessed. In the end, there remained only silence in his mind.

Harry's eyes, having reverted back to their usual green, rolled back into their sockets, sensing yet unable to prevent his body from tipping sideways.

He grunted when he collided with a hard chest, pushing away from the arms that encircled him.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed lowly, staggering a couple of feet away from Voldemort's reach, a subconscious part of him fearing the man would just finish what his Horcrux had started.

"This is all your fault," he heard himself mumble. He was feeling faint, and so hungry.

He had just consumed a few hours ago the food Voldemort had brought him before they started their daily session, but he was feeling ravenous already. Like he hadn't eaten since yesterday.

Spotting the long couch in his peripheral vision, he trudged over, wanting more than anything to just lie down for a while.

The husky remains of the once lively grass crunched noisily under his weight, the sound making him flinch. Was he really the one that turned something so beautiful into something so gruesome? And the flowers…the magnificent lilies with their pure color and sweet fragrance, he had destroyed them too.

He tripped without his notice, only registering some form of change when he felt the pressure of the arm around his waist, supporting him.

Eyes half lidded, he allowed Voldemort to aid him, not entirely sure if he could have made it all the way without collapsing on the floor and just go to sleep on top of the dead plants. The notion sent a violent shiver up his spine. They reached the end of the couch and Harry withdrew from Voldemort's grip, climbing on. He crawled over to the top before falling on his side and remaining that way.

Warm fingers coursed through his hair, nudging his fringe away from his forehead, making him force open his eyes.

The blazing hearth in the fireplace across was creating shadowy patterns on the Dark Lord's looming face. "No need for so much mourning," Voldemort said, "Bella's pride was wounded worse than her body."

So he hadn't killed her. That was good, he supposed.

But still…

"What are you doing to me?"

The fingers not once stilled in their caress, urging Harry's state of mind to grow lax, despite his efforts otherwise.

"Nothing much, I assure you." Voldemort shrugged minutely, and though his features weren't discernible in the fire's shadows, Harry could hear the quirked smile in his tone of voice.

"You see, my treasure, you owned the right foundations from the start. Unfortunately, in the hands of all the wrong people, something went wrong in the framing process." Voldemort chuckled, "I'm merely reconstructing you to how you should have been." And with one last, lingering touch, the Dark Lord stepped away, letting Harry burrow his face into the cushion, hoping beyond hope it could open up and swallow him whole.

**END OF CHAPTER**

God, I just love drama between these two!

Hope you liked it!


	14. Chapter 14

**A big thank you to ****higashi ****and his inspiring words: "**The developing relationship between Voldemort and Harry is twisted and cruel and fascinating and darkly tender. A dark world, an impossible situation, a hopeless future, endless power and ambition... and Harry caught in the middle.**" When I saw the concept I wanted to portray in this story so remarkably perceived I almost couldn't believe it.**

**It's wonderful to know your effort is being rewarded. ^^**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN **

"Would that be all?" Voldemort passed the document, signed and stamped with the sigil of the Ministry's coat of arms, and Lucius took hold of the sheet of parchment, dutifully placing it in the manila folder with the rest.

"It would seem so." The blond aristocrat skimmed through the papers, nodding in contentment after deducting that all Ministry related documents had been looked into.

Voldemort turned to Yaxley, "What of the meeting with the France ambassador?"

The wizard opened his mouth but before he could utter a single word Barty snickered loudly.

"You should have seen him, Master. One look at Thicknesse and he turned to me, requesting an appointment on his Minister's behalf with the true ruler of Wizarding Britain."

An insistent, rhythmical sound suddenly filled the room, causing Barty to falter and turn towards the source only to grin widely upon finding Yaxley drumming his fingers on the table's surface.

"Sorry, did you want to tell the tale?"

Yaxley glowered at him. "Essentially, yes, that was all there was to it." he told the Dark Lord.

Voldemort hummed quietly under his breath, sitting back in his high backed chair and surveying his Inner Circle. "Very well. Send word to the French Ministry of Magic of my impending visit in a two weeks' time."

Yaxley inclined his head respectfully.

"How is your newly appointed post coming along, Barty?"

The man chuckled, "More enjoyable than my poor, late father had made out a job in the Ministry to be, that's for certain."

Following Dolores Umbridge's absence, Barty had been instructed to pose as her stand-in, under the guise of heavy glamours, of course. Needless to say, he had found his job as Under-Secretary to the Minister quite thrilling; as it was, he spent every waking hour indulging his distaste of Thicknesse, tormenting the man at any chance he had.

"Yes," Walden chimed in a mock sad voice, "Crouch would be so immensely disappointed if he could see you now."

Rabastan snorted, "Please, I doubt he could fall any further in his dear papa's eyes."

The three men locked gazes, lips stretching broadly before they burst into simultaneous laughter, leaning forward in their seats to grasp the edge of the table for support.

Their fellow Death Eaters joined in with more subdued chuckles.

Voldemort snapped his fingers and not an instant later, one of Lucius' house elves was bowing waist deep, not once daring to lift its head and glance at him.

"Bring me a cup of tea." he ordered curtly, waving the creature away dismissively.

He didn't bother looking as it popped away. Why should he anyway? He didn't care remotely enough to tell them apart, let alone learn their silly, IQ-degrading names.

Mere seconds later, his followers were finally starting to come around and he was already sipping his tea, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation. Early Grey with just one teaspoon of sugar; he disliked overly sweet things. He couldn't think of a better beverage to start his day.

He allowed his Death Eaters a little while more to settle down, observing them all above the rim of his cup.

"Lucius," he said at last, once all noise had ceased, "inform the Outer Circle that an assembly is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. I want every single one of them present."

The blond nodded. "Your decision to attend the meetings with the Outer Circle has already proven fruitful, my Lord." A wry little smile tugged at the corners of the man's lips. "Simply by reporting back to you personally, they have openly expressed their profound willingness to serve such a charismatic Master."

Voldemort chuckled, swirling the contents of his cup gently. "I find it truly unfathomable how a notion such as forbidding the rest of my Death Eaters from having contact with me would be appealing. For the subjects to possess genuine devotion, the leader must always interact with them in person. It can not be done through a third party."

How could he have established something as preposterous as that?

Well, in his defense, he hadn't been at his best after his resurrection and perhaps even a while before that.

His mentality had fallen victim to his far too mutilated soul, something which regretfully he had not foreseen.

Too paranoid to recall the superiority in his level of power, he had ordered his Inner Circle to meet with the Outer, which included newly recruited Death Eaters and the ones in his service only for a couple of years that had yet to prove themselves. He couldn't possibly bother with their incompetence while planning a take over, so it had been decided that anything note worthy would be reported to someone of his Inner Circle and if it truly was of importance, only then would his Inner Circle bring it up to him.

However, he had been mistaken, he could see that now. In the end, every person counted. Any extra wizard or witch could make the difference in numbers.

"Genuine devotion, Master?" Rabastan repeated, eyes comically wide. "Surely you're not looking to replace us?" He placed a hand on the general area his heart was located for good measure.

Voldemort huffed, amused despite himself. "Hush, Rabastan."

Said wizard grinned good naturally while the rest of his companions laughed out loud.

Voldemort's gaze inevitably landed on the single person that seemed to have no desire to partake in the proceedings of today's meeting.

"Bella," he called out and a pair of black eyes instantly jerked up to him, looking at him for the fraction of a second to portray he had her attention before reverting to staring at her lap.

He couldn't help but arch a single eyebrow at that.

"You have been awfully quiet today." he commented idly, placing his nearly empty cup on the table before him. "Is there something of concern on your mind?"

The witch shook her head vehemently, midnight curls bouncing in every which way from the force.

"Still licking your wounded ego, Bellatrix?" Barty smirked, hefting his elbow on the table to cradle his chin in the palm of his hand.

Bellatrix's head snapped up, mouth twisting into a fierce scowl. "Shut your mouth, mongrel."

"Nope, affirmed pureblood, sorry to disappoint you, sweetie." Barty chanted in chirpy voice.

Rabastan sniggered when his brother ran a hand down his face, earning the full blunt of his sister-in-law's baleful glare. He held up his hands defensively.

"Seriously," Barty said airily, waving a hand, "how pathetic can you get? Both you and Severus are acting like complete dimwits all the bloody time. I swear, my ears will bleed if I hear you whine about Potter one more time."

"You leave me out of this, Bartemius." sneered Severus, "In case you have failed to notice, I haven't been casting lethal curses at him at every chance I get, contrary to a certain someone." Which was delivered with a non subtle leer in Bellatrix's direction.

"Oh, please!" Barty threw his hands up in the air. "You've been picking on the kid ever since he set foot at Hogwarts, and don't you dare deny it." he added that last bit hastily, pointing a warning finger at the Potions Master. "There are no secrets in this Circle, it'd be useless even if you tried."

Severus' teeth gritted together briefly. "Why should the way I treat Potter be any of your business?"

Barty laughed, high and cold. "If it hadn't been for the Unbreakable Vow that Dumbledore forced on you binding you to never harm Potter, you'd have poisoned him with one of your concoctions already."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend that ending his life hadn't been your agenda in the past."

"That was because it was what our Lord wanted at the time!"

"Of course," Severus said indulgently, "Any other excuses you would like to share?"

"There has been a rift amongst the Circle ever since your fucking fixation with that Mudblood!"

Severus slammed his balled hands on the table. "Don't you dare call her that!"

"You've always been pining for her, and because James Potter got to claim her first, you're projecting your stupid hatred to his son." Barty spat, gesturing towards Bellatrix. "And so is she. The both of you are pathetic; loathing the next best person simply because the right ones are dead."

"Don't assume you know anything about me!" Bellatrix yelled, outraged. "I've driven people to insanity with my Cruciatus before, you little prick, don't assume I can't do it again."

Barty's face darkened. "Did you just threaten me?"

"I certainly do." Severus seethed, "Speak of things you aren't supposed to meddle with and I can promise you will regret it, Bartemius."

Rabastan bristled. "Underhanded ways have always been your specialty, Severus. There was a reason, after all, why you specifically were chosen to serve as a spy."

"Careful there, Rabastan." Lucius cautioned, his lower lip curling disdainfully. "It almost sounded as though you were accusing one of our own of treachery."

"Severus' disposition became quite questionable in the past, if you recall, Lucius." Antonin said, glancing from one man to the other. "He did betray our Lord at one point; he warned Dumbledore of Master's impending attack on the Potters."

"He turned his back on all of us." Walden interjected, tone accusing.

Barty clucked his tongue, "And all because of a Mudblood."

Two things happened at once; Severus' arm dived into the inner pocket of his robe to retrieve his wand just as the china cup combusted on the spot, spraying the nearest occupants with tea and sending tiny pieces of porcelain all the way to the other side of the table.

All heads swiveled towards the head of the table, cringing at the blazing fire that appeared to have lit up behind crimson eyes, making the fury that was swirling in their depths all the more palpable.

Their Lord's voice was calm, eerily and dangerously so, when he spoke, "As of this moment, I am establishing a reversion. From this day forth, the Inner Circle will be operating based on its fundamental principles."

Choked gasps rose from the entire table, all Death Eaters staring at him as though he were crazed.

Which he wasn't, not anymore. And it was about time he mended some things that had gone ignored while he had been blinded by his quest for power.

"That in itself," he went on, looking at each and every one of them, "means for every mistake committed, every wrongdoing and miscalculation, it will not matter by whom as you will be punished accordingly as a whole." A pause. "Perhaps that will teach you to behave as a single unit."

He sighed when he was met by silence.

"Did Abraxas ever tell you of the pledge the original Inner Circle had taken?" he asked the blond seated to his right.

Lucius brow creased together.

A pledge? Yes, his father had mentioned something like that, but Lucius had been a mere child at the time, barely ten years of age. He remembered clearly the confusion he had felt at the incomprehensible words his father was speaking.

What was it he had said?

Something about a soulless mind…perhaps?

Lucius shook his head. That made no sense whatsoever.

No, it was more like-

"_Lucius," his father said softly, holding his small hand gently between his fingers._

_He looked up, blinking questioningly, and the man smiled down at him before returning his gaze to their path ahead._

"_I want you to meet someone; someone important."_

"_Is that where we're going, father? Is that person a friend of yours?"_

_His father shook his head, platinum hair shining golden as they passed by a window and the sun illuminated their figures. _

"_He could never be a friend simply because he's so much more than. He is my brother, my father, my guardian, my everything."_

_Lucius frowned, tugging at the bigger hand. "I don't understand."_

_His father laughed, and the sound instantly calmed Lucius._

"_How about this? We are the mind, Lucius, and the soul but he's the heart. A soul is useless without the heart, and a heart is meaningless without the soul. He needs us as much as we need him. We exist for him, to serve and protect, and he exists because of us, to bring our hopes and dreams into existence."_

_Lucius huffed, "Was that supposed to clear things up?"_

_His father chuckled softly, tightening his hold briefly. "One day, Lucius, you'll have to aid him as well, in his journey to create a future we can all be proud of."_

"_But how can I help him if I don't understand what he is?"_

_His father paused, and Lucius along with him._

_The man crouched down so he was at Lucius' level, grey eyes warm as they gazed at him. "He is the heart, Lucius, and we're the soul. After all, what is a Lord without followers, and what are followers without someone to follow?"_

"_Alright," Lucius sighed, defeated._

_His father smiled fondly, leaning forward to place a kiss on the crown of his head. "One day, my son, you'll come to understand. That man shall bring change to this corrupted world. I can only hope I'll be there to see it."_

_Lucius blinked, but his father simply ruffled his hair and rose to his feet._

_Through the unfamiliar Manor they went, through halls and corridors that Lucius had never seen before, until they finally came to a halt behind huge, double doors. _

_Lucius felt intimidated by their size, jumping back once they opened unexpectedly._

_They spread wide open, as though in welcome._

_His father tugged gently at his hand and together they moved inside._

_A grand sized room awaited them, and Lucius noted faintly it matched the size of their ballroom back at home. Perusing the interior, his eyes caught movement somewhere ahead. _

_A man was walking towards them, the black robe he was wearing above his clothes seemingly moving along an invisible wind and Lucius was so distracted by it he never noticed his father letting go of his hand. Only when his arm fell by his side, did he snap out of his stupor to see his father's form walking to meet the man half-way._

_Then, his father fell down on one knee, and Lucius felt indignant._

_They were Malfoys, and Malfoys bowed to no one._

_He had half a mind to remind his father that, when the man reached down with one long arm and lifted his father up. He couldn't hear the brief words that were exchanged, but the man leant forward and in a fashion similar to what his father did for him only a little while ago, laid a gentle kiss on his father's forehead. _

"_Lucius," his father called, stretching out a hand towards him, and Lucius took it in a daze, eyes glued to the dark orbs gazing down at him._

_They were a deep green, and yet, tiny specks of red were mixed inside. It was curious, but he still thought it was the most beautiful combination he had seen. _

_His father was saying something, but Lucius was too far gone to hear._

"_Are you my heart too?" he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, somehow toying with the notion that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to cut out his heart and replace it with this person._

_The man smiled; it was miniscule and barely there, but Lucius felt elated._

"_Not yet, little one." he said, bending down to look him in the eyes and Lucius was once again captivated._

_There was something remarkable about this person, as if he was out of this world._

"_You have yet to find the brothers and sisters with whom you will become one entity." He cupped Lucius' cheek in a gentle grip. "Find them, bond with them so that you become impenetrable, and perhaps I'll become your heart and you all shall be my soul."_

_He leant forward, and Lucius' eyes shut of their own accord when warm lips met his forehead, shivering at the tingles that went down his spine. _

_He smiled widely when the man drew back._

_Mirroring his father, he brought his arm diagonal to his torso, bending down on one knee and lowering his head. "Yes, my Lord."_

_His father's fingers carded through his hair, but all Lucius could see when he looked up was the glint in those brilliant eyes, making them appear almost proud. _

_He would accomplish the task that was given to him, just to catch a glimpse of that spark one more time. _

Lucius reared back in his seat, staring ahead unseeingly.

He had forgotten all about that memory, too far back in his childhood for him to bother looking.

He ran a hand through his hair, starting when his arm was grasped in a gentle hold. His wife's beautiful sapphire eyes peered at him worriedly, and out of pure reflex did he smile back reassuringly.

The moment he turned, red eyes were already looking at him.

Speechless, all he could offer was a weak, "My Lord."

His Master studied his features for a moment, before diverting his attention to the rest. "The soul has been assembled, Lucius, but it is fractured. And I have no need for any more fractured souls."

Lucius nodded, swallowing thickly. He was deeply ashamed that their Lord had managed to come back to them, the most stable he had seen him with the exception of their first meeting, only to find them so alienated from one another…

They truly were, weren't they?

Barty was right. Ever since that point back in time when Severus committed treachery against them all, they had started to fall apart.

After his resurrection and once their Lord had managed to assemble them all once again, the Azkaban imprisoned ones included, he had confronted Severus during one of their assemblies. There was a lot of screaming as their Lord tore through Severus' mind, unmindful about the raw force of his Legilimency in his search for trustworthy answers, after which Severus lay writhing on the floor, muscles twitching and blood trickling down his nose.

Several days later, they had been summoned once again, only for their Lord to announce Severus pardoned.

Some felt cheated, others outraged, but they would never question their Master's reasoning; like they didn't when Lucius was forgiven for his mishap with the diary that had been entrusted to him, or Barty for failing the task of handing Potter to their Lord at the end of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Well, he failed to hand the boy to him and make sure it remained that way. The Portkey should have been Charmed to never become usable after its initiative activation, but it wasn't, because Barty was still human in the end and the stress over the importance of the task had taken its toll in the worst way possible; he had made a mistake.

And that was the very same explanation their Lord had given them.

Being his Inner Circle, they were privy to second chances simply because he trusted them enough not to fail him again. There would never be a third, he had made certain to accentuate that.

After that meeting, it had been established that their minds would never be closed off to him, their Occlumency shields never to be risen while in his presence ever again.

Be that as it may, Severus' betrayal had been the first and compared to the little things made by the others it had cut the deepest.

They hadn't been the same ever since.

"Are you aware of what the Inner Circle stands for?" Voldemort spoke suddenly, addressing them all.

When he failed to acquire a response, he continued. "Its one and only difference from the Outer is that it represents a rank; you acquired a place inside it not because some of you descend down from people who made up the original Inner Circle, but due to your individual skills and the loyalty you have displayed."

He gazed at them impassively, "The very Circle is a rank; within it, however, you are all equals. I favor none more so than the other."

He lifted a hand to rub at his aching temples for a brief moment before he pushed away from the table, rising smoothly to his feet. "For months we had been planning, calculating and evaluating every detail worth of consideration. What I need in Diagon tomorrow is for the people to witness a combined work the likes of which has not been preceded, not grown adults quarreling like children."

He spun on his heels, the thin black robe licking at his sides as he walked over to the doors. Like well mannered servants, they opened eagerly for him but he paused on the threshold, glancing at his Death Eaters above his shoulder, not bothering to face them fully. "In the morning, I shall take the Outer Circle and head to Diagon Alley. None of you is allowed to accompany me."

The heavy, mahogany doors closed soundlessly behind him.

Seconds trickled by which eventually turned to minutes.

"He just forbade us from going, didn't he?" Walden said, tone dejected, looking at his fellow companions through lidded eyes.

"Absolutely not!" Bellatrix shrieked, slamming her splayed out hands on the table and producing a sound that reverberated around them for a while. "Those imbeciles can barely cast straight, let alone protect our Lord!"

"Now, now," Antonin chided, waving a finger disapprovingly, "You know they aren't half bad and their progress is constantly improving. You shouldn't be so hard on them, Bella."

"Besides," Rodolphus interjected, eyeing them meaningfully, "he doesn't need protection. We know it, he knows it."

"Not the point!" Barty growled, "It's our _job_ to protect him, whether he wants to or not."

"Well," Rabastan made an airy pattern with his hand, "amongst other things."

Silence fell over them once more.

"Shit, did he sound as disappointed to you as he did to me?"

Barty snorted when he received glares from every direction, letting his head thump back against the chair. "Yeah, thought so."

Lucius sighed deeply, combing a hand through his hair. "I need you all to see something."

He shook his head to fend off the inquiring looks he was given and snapped his fingers in a swift motion. He turned to the elf that appeared, ordering it in curt tones to fetch him his pensieve from his office. Despite the fact it was located on the other side of the Manor, the silver basin materialized before him not a second later.

He brought his wand to his temple, concentrating on the sole memory he wished to retrieve. Once he pulled it away, a grayish-blue thread was hanging from the tip, floating gently along with the motion.

Tapping the transparent surface of the pensieve with his wand, Lucius watched as the thread glided inside the liquid. The moment it breached the surface, it burst into inky smoke that spread slowly, covering every inch within proximity.

Lucius flicked his wand and the pensieve floated to the middle of the table.

At his signal, the others crowded around the basin, exchanging quick glances before they reached out, letting their fingers glide along the now completely black substance and the next instant their minds were sucked right into its depths.

Now all Lucius could do was wait and see if there was any hope of repairing themselves.

***)&(***

Voldemort yelled, a cry made of the entirety of all the welling emotions inside him that were itching to be released.

And, oh. Release them he did.

He growled furiously when the fifth mannequin in only six minutes burst into dust, painting the translucent surface of the privacy wards he had brought up, wards which he had implanted with the strongest muffling charms he knew of; it wouldn't do to wake the slumbering teen not too far away, would it?

He conjured another dummy, slicing it into thin wooden stripes that fluttered to the floor like feathers and out of sheer spite only, he set them on fire, watching them turning into ash.

Quicker than he'd have liked, they lost his interest and he waved his wand in swift succession.

Two more dummies manifested only to simultaneously explode in a cloud of dark sparks.

He huffed out a long, wispy breath of air, sweeping dark locks away from his face.

What a far cry they were from his prime Circle…to the point it bordered on incomprehensible. The people behind those doors, though wounded together by loose strings, could never hope to reach the level of devotion that had been coursing through his first Death Eaters; at least not the way they were now.

_Our heart._

That was how they used to call him, and he would scoff each time he heard it simply because it could easily make it into the list of the top ten most ridiculous things he had heard during his teenage life.

He never bothered to correct them, however.

The superciliously proud expressions on their faces whenever they'd say it, and the astoundingly reverent tone in their voices, had had him rendered speechless.

He knew they meant every word of it and when they knelt before him in their common room, uttering those two words unabashedly in the presence of all their housemates, he had begun to realize the true extent of their loyalties. They had been fifteen at the time, and there he already was, with the heirs of the most influential and powerful families of Wizarding Britain proclaiming their allegiance.

He wouldn't quite call them family, but in some strange, twisted sort of way, they had slowly wormed their way into his heart.

Making it to the top of the Slytherin Hierarchy while only in his second year, having Salazar Slytherin's fearsome creature at his disposal and with a Horcrux already created by the time he graduated, he was confident his power was unparalleled.

…How remarkably foolish he had been.

He might have lived through a Muggle war, but never a magical one. Gellert Grindelwald's reign of terror had been restricted to Germany and just when it was reaching its peak, Dumbledore had put an end to it. Thus, when the First Wizarding War broke out, he had been too arrogant and it cost him dearly.

Theodosius had been the first to fall, brought down by the combined power of members of the Order.

Maximus had pushed Abraxas out of the way of an Auror's lethal Curse and taken the full brunt of its effects; his own bones had impaled him from the inside out.

Orion and Evan had followed, their bodies found amongst fifty or so corpses of Aurors and Order members. They might not have made it out alive, but they had taken their friends' murderers down with them.

By the time he realized his elite were gone, only Abraxas had been left by his side and that was mostly because he had been fighting close enough for the most part and Voldemort was able to monitor his movements, interjecting whenever a Curse or Hex sneaked too close to home.

He located the remains of the other four only after the battle was over; they had died without him having been aware.

That had been back in 1970, the first official battle between the two conflicting forces.

He vowed to never make the same mistakes again after that, and he had kept true to his word. Abraxas, the only one remaining of his Inner Circle, had never been allowed out of his sight. Not that the Malfoy aristocrat had objected to this single rule; the loss of the other four had struck them both deeply, but to Abraxas it had felt as though losing a part of himself. They had shared everything; been a close knitted group since their childhood, when their families first made them mingle.

When Tom Riddle came along, they simply agreed to share the devotion they held for one another, after evaluating whether or not he deserved it, naturally.

Together with Abraxas, he had employed all manner of Dark creatures into his army; Giants, Werewolves and Inferi alike. His reign remained strong all the way to 1981, until the night history restarted anew by a single infant.

A year before that, Abraxas was killed.

He had been leading a raid when they were ambushed by Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Voldemort was attending a meeting at the time with the alpha of the Werewolf pack when the enchantment he had cast on the blond was triggered. Abraxas had already died of blood loss before he even arrived, and yet they kept mutilating his body, tearing him from limb to limb for being the Dark Lord's second in command.

He had slaughtered everyone at the site in the slowest, most brutal way he was capable of but it still hadn't been enough.

His grip strengthened around the Elder Wand, knuckles turning stark white.

A moan, unbidden and unexpected, had his nerves unwinding in near surprise, wand arm lowering.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, heaving a sigh. Sometimes he kept neglecting that his emotions weren't private…

He brought down the wards, slipping his wand back inside his robe as he made his way over to the large couch, staring down at the person occupying it. Harry's forehead was wrinkled, lips pursed and fingers incessantly clenching and unclenching. He contemplated the boy for a while, watching his unconscious struggle to ward off the pain in his scar before he finally readjusted his Occlumency shields.

Immediately, the teen's skin smoothed out, limbs falling still once more.

He stepped around the couch, claiming the nearest armchair and let his legs cross over at the ankles.

Crimson eyes took in the peaceful expression on the boy's features, long fingers reaching out to brush off the black strands which had been dislodged with Harry's restless squirming and fallen over his forehead, obscuring the jagged mark – _his _mark – from view.

The slumbering youth didn't even stir.

Two whole days had passed, the third one almost entirely gone as well. During that time, Harry hadn't twitched a single muscle, his body having shut down to replenish the lost energy. The boy's venture, along with the Horcrux's uninhibited use of its host's magical reserves, had exceeded the limits a first time should be restricted to and put too much of a strain on his core. Hence why the long recuperation.

His reaction to Voldemort's anger was a promising sign.

He had plans for the child and little time to spare.

Everything needed to be in perfect order for tomorrow's little outing, and if things went as schemed, he'd rid himself of a couple of pestering nuisances.

He settled more comfortably in his seat, hands stretching out to rest on the armrests, fingers flexing momentarily before settling down. He shook his head in good humor. The last time he had been this restless was the night they were to take over Hogwarts. He had walked away from his former home with more than one price, then. After all, he always made the best of a situation, exploiting it to its fullest.

Smoldering orbs snapped to the unsuspecting figure next to him, the corner of his lips curling into a dark, half smile.

And he very well intended to do the same once the sun announced a new day.

**END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN **

**Well, our little Harry is certainly in for a shock, and perhaps a little more turmoil? **

**Hell yeah! **

**Remember, reviews keep me happy and the chapters going!**


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

He knew the moment the boy awoke long before he opened his eyes; an entire night of listening to his even breathing enabled him to detect almost instantly a change in the steady rhythm.

The book in his lap closed with a snap, and as though compelled by the sound, pale eyelids fluttered, long, black lashes brushing against a high cheekbone when the boy blinked several times to shake off his sleep induced haze.

Bleary green eyes gravitated towards him and he watched in silence as their natural brightness slowly emerged in the wake of awareness.

"I'm thirsty," he said after a while, and from what Voldemort garnered of the boy's messy thoughts, he amended that sentence into _I'm parched_.

"And hungry." Harry added morosely, face grimacing in discomfort.

_Famished_, the teen's mind supplied and Voldemort nodded his agreement.

"Naturally. You have been asleep for the entirety of three days, after all."

Harry blinked back at him incomprehensively, still making no attempts to move from his position. "I feel tired."

"That would be your muscles, having fallen asleep." Voldemort quipped, rising from his seat and sharply gesturing for the boy to do the same. He snapped his fingers swiftly, barking at whichever elf popped up to bring a platter of food while performing a wordless _Tempus. _

By the time he turned back to Harry, the teen was still struggling to raise himself on his arms.

With a roll of the eyes, Voldemort leant down, took hold of his upper arm and hauled him unceremoniously to his feet. Harry wobbled, legs trembling under his own weight and considering it wasn't much to begin with, the notion should be alarming at the very least but the Dark Lord wouldn't allow a mere light headedness to put a damper in his plans.

The teen's knees buckled abruptly, sending him sprawling in a mess of tangled limbs on the Malfoys' pristine floor.

"Uh…" Harry blinked up at him, "I totally didn't mean for that to happen." He cast a fierce scowl towards his traitorous legs. "I just wanted to take a couple of steps."

…Well, perhaps not a mere light headedness, but still…

Voldemort breathed steadily through the nose, forcing his muscles to uncoil.

Crouching beside the boy, he wrapped one arm around Harry's back and snaked the other underneath his knees before rising, depositing him back on the couch.

Harry folded his arms across his chest, cheeks painted with a light flush. "I'm not an invalid." he grumbled, pointedly looking away from the older wizard.

Voldemort chuckled, reclaiming his seat on the armchair and crossing his legs, arms moving to mimic Harry's stance. "Certainly, though a slowest approach might be more prudent for your recovery."

The boy jumped when a silver tray materialized out of thin air in his lap, dislodging nearly all of its contents.

"I'm afraid you'll have to consume your meal here. My Inner Circle have grounded themselves inside the meeting chambers, which renders the room inaccessible for the time being."

Harry paused, a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. "Grounded…?" he repeated incredulously, before he shook his head and went back to his food. "I don't want to know what that even means." he said after he had swallowed, poking at a chicken wing with the tips of his fork.

"A shower and a fresh change of clothes after your meal, and your body should be back to function."

Harry looked up from his plate, frowning at the man. "What's wrong with the ones I'm wearing? The Freshening Charm you've placed on them keeps them from getting dirty."

Voldemort leaned back, observing the boy behind a dark fringe of hair. "Let us say they are ill suited for your schedule today."

Harry fidgeted, readjusting the tray on his knees with a small cough. "Right, my schedule. And do I want to hear the contents of that schedule, or…?"

The corner of the Dark wizard's lips curled upwards. "Or." he replied plainly.

"Yeah, I thought so." For some reason, he suddenly found himself with a lack of appetite.

"You should finish that," Voldemort said when Harry made to push the tray away, "You're going to need your strength."

The teen snorted. "Somehow, I don't doubt that. I'm just not hungry, anymore."

"I insist, my treasure."

Harry halted, midway in settling the silver tray beside him on the couch, and glanced at the Dark Lord from the corner of his eyes. The threatening undertone in that single sentence had been hard to miss, despite the near purr it had come out as. He shuddered when he met those eyes; half hidden as they were by those dark strands of hair, they appeared almost black instead of red.

Arms starting to quiver from the strain, he finally returned his cargo back to his lap.

He picked up the fork and slowly went back to his unfinished meal, doing his best to ignore the unwavering gaze centered on him by focusing on his churning stomach and its protesting rumbles as it was made to accommodate more food than it was comfortable with.

He was chewing his last bite when the Dark Lord abandoned his reclining position and stood abruptly, nearly causing Harry to choke.

Coughing lightly as he smacked a fist against his chest, it didn't take a genius to figure out the man wanted him to follow and with swiftly mounting trepidation Harry did. He briefly wondered which disaster Voldemort would dish out at him next, but it was a fleeting thought considering he was about to find out.

He went down the hallway the Dark wizard had disappeared into, already recognizing the route from the scarce times one of the other Death Eaters had taken him.

As expected, Voldemort was already waiting for him outside a familiar door.

With a resigned sigh, he went inside after the man's curt indication.

***)&(***

Voldemort leaned against the stone wall, fingers tapping incessantly atop his folded arms.

The quick _Tempus _he performed showed 9:45 and he scowled. They were already running late and if there was one thing he despised most it was his plans being thwarted. Especially when it was due to a green eyed, little menace. Just as he pushed off the wall to go see had kept taking that brat so long, the door to the guest chamber swung open on its own, and Voldemort promptly decided that a couple more minutes wouldn't be too much of a nuisance when the damage had already been done.

He took his time studying the teen before him, the clothes he had picked for him suiting him perfectly, accentuating for once the very fact that Harry was well on his way into becoming a very handsome, young man.

Form fitting black slacks covered his lower body, custom made and tailored specifically for Harry's lithe figure. A dark green button up shirt, tight enough to allow the freedom of movement, hugged his slim torso in all the right places. Black dragon hide boots adorned his feet, reaching all the way up to his knees and fingerless gloves of the same color and material had been placed on his hands, leaving the long digits standing out even paler in contrast.

Voldemort's favorite however, was the cloak he had given Harry, modified accordingly; long to the point it concealed his ankles, it was designed to remain unfastened. Made by the darkest black threads in existence, Voldemort had taken it upon himself to add a very specific detail; silver flames started from the bottom of the cloak, climbing upwards to stop at his lower back where they cackled and entwined.

The boy fidgeted under his extended scrutiny, awkwardly picking at the thick material on his hands.

"Spin for me," he said at last, arching an eyebrow when all Harry did was stare blankly up at him.

"You're kidding, right?" Harry asked dubiously, arm rising to scratch at a distinctly flushed cheek.

"One spin," Voldemort insisted, "Let me admire my masterpiece."

The raven haired teen scoffed at that particular comment, luminous green orbs flashing in contempt. "Would you stop with all the staring if I did?" he grumbled, glaring at him as though daring Voldemort to refuse.

The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "I suppose you'll just have to find out for yourself."

Eyes rolling, Harry took a single step back before twisting sharply on the soles of his feet, the silver flames spinning along with him and encircling his figure as though ready to devour him.

He had barely stopped when Voldemort caught his arm and steered him forward sharply, the teen losing his balance and throwing out his other arm to brace himself against Voldemort's chest. Those defiant eyes snapped to his face, their owner jerking angrily in his hold, only to grimace upon finding it unyielding.

"Have you riddled out their meaning yet, my treasure?"

Harry faltered suddenly and Voldemort caught the fleeting association the teen made in his head between that sentence's wording and Voldemort's original name.

"The flames?" he hissed dangerously, not appreciative in the slightest of the concept, no matter how unintentional it might have been.

Harry must have caught a glimpse of his expression for he cleared his throat, head shaking in answer.

Voldemort hummed quietly. "What is the key in a phoenix's immortality?"

The other frowned, thrown off by the question. He could hear the mental struggle to wring his brain for an answer, while still trying to figure the connection between the two queries.

Harry's gaze suddenly sharpened, eyes narrowing. "I'm not a phoenix, Tom."

Ignoring the intentional use of his name in an attempt to rile him, Voldemort hummed quietly. "I beg to differ, darling." he shot back, smirking at the expected glare he received, "You've been reborn from the very ashes of the Light's Chosen One." He said pleasantly, stroking with the fingertips of his unoccupied hand an alabaster cheek. "You belong to the Dark now, my treasure, to me. It is high time the world learnt that, don't you think?"

Voldemort withdrew both hands, releasing the boy and beginning the small trek back to the drawing room, chuckling softly when Harry remained rooted to the spot. Poor thing. His mind was reeling with the veiled implications behind those words.

"Hey!" Harry called out suddenly, running up to him and blocking his path, fingers wrapping around his forearm.

That would be the first time the boy had reached out at him of his own volition, Voldemort noted absently.

"What's that schedule you were talking about earlier?"

Voldemort felt like clapping in approval. It looked like his little menace had figured it out.

"I'm going to gift you with a rather rare opportunity." he said in the end, watching as Harry reared back in surprise at being given a clear answer. "In a little while, you'll have the chance to spare an immeasurable amount of innocent people from meeting a premature end."

Harry's brows knitted together, eyes guarded. "And I'm going to do that, how?"

"By making them see reason, of course. Currently, the population of Wizarding Britain is buried in deep grief over your death, Dumbledore's as well. Imagine however, how many will reconsider their beliefs if their hero were to remerge, very much alive and bearing the title of Dark Prince."

Harry retrieved his hand abruptly, only now remembering he was still holding onto Voldemort. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm not-"

Green eyes widened, looking down at his attire. "That's what the clothes are for. You want me to convince them I've joined you?"

Voldemort shrugged, sidestepping the boy and restarting on his path. "Your decision."

"Oh, really?" Harry mocked, quickly falling in step with him. "And what's gonna happen to all those people you mentioned if I decide not to?"

Voldemort pretended to think for a moment. "I suppose they die in the long run."

"They're innocent!" Harry shouted, eyes ablaze. "You said so yourself!"

"Innocent, yes. Indispensable, no."

"How can you talk like that about human lives?" The young wizard actually sounded disturbed, as though unable to comprehend the very notion. Too bad that Voldemort himself didn't have such qualms.

"The Wizarding World is in need of a change, Harry. The restrictions so foolishly placed by the Ministry have limited our access to magic by prohibiting certain brands of it. Magic is magic. And magic is power."

Voldemort blinked, catching the sudden thought that invaded the boy's mind.

"Ah, yes." he remarked, nodding contently. "I taught you that during your first year."

"Stay out of my head," the other snapped, but Voldemort ignored him.

"There's no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. Can you translate that based on what I just told you?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, mussing the inky strands further. "There's no Light or Dark, only magic and those too weak to seek it."

Voldemort tipped his head, bestowing a genuine smile at him. "Precisely. I don't care much about this generation; their minds have already been poisoned by the nonsense the Ministry's been spouting for years. However, I do have hope for the generation that shall follow, and I _will _ensure that no ones denies them their very right."

Harry sighed, "You're going about it the wrong way." He risked a glance at Voldemort's profile before looking down at the tiled floor. "Killing innocent people simply because they're already set on their beliefs is just wrong."

"Then you know what could solve that, don't you?"

The boy didn't look up, but Voldemort didn't need him to. His thoughts were making it clear enough.

"Where…" he hesitated for a moment, before picking up where he left off, mind made. "Where will I be performing?"

Voldemort chuckled, finding his choice of words quite interesting. "Which is the one place all wizards and witches in Britain frequent?"

Only then did emerald pools snap up, staring at him in plain disbelief before the boy swore under his breath which earned him an amused look in return. He rarely found other people's reactions even remotely as intriguing as this one child's.

Voldemort paused upon reaching their destination, eyeing the largely open doors of the meeting chamber disinterestedly.

Harry tensed next to him almost imperceptibly and he turned, aware of what had probably caught the youth's attention.

It came as no surprise when he was met with the assembled Inner Circle.

"I take it they un-grounded themselves?" the boy murmured, face scrunching up when they all fell down to their knees in one smooth, synchronized motion.

"Yes, it would appear so." Voldemort replied, arms crossing over his chest.

"Uh, are they supposed to do that for so long?" Harry questioned once it was made clear none of them had any intention of standing back up.

Voldemort made a pondering sound in his throat, walking past him and over to his followers. They showed no outer signs at his approach, merely uttering a chorused 'My Lord'.

"I believe I informed you of my intentions, did I not?" Of course, it wasn't really a question and they knew it.

"Master," Lucius began, "we request that you reconsider."

"Denied."

"Please, my Lord." Bellatrix tried, tone beseeching, "Take us with you."

"Yes," Barty intoned adamantly. "We can't possibly entrust those fools with the matter of your safety, Master. Not today, and not ever."

Murmurs of agreement echoed all around the semi circle they had formed.

"Strange," Voldemort mused aloud and all noise instantly ceased, "but I doubt I've ever witnessed such a mutual understanding between the two of you, Bella, Barty. It makes me wonder what could have possibly brought on such a drastic change."

"My Lord," Rabastan started, "it's true we have our disputes." Rodolphus picked up, "But if there's one thing we all agree on…"

"It is your safety, my Lord." Antonin said.

"We live to serve you, Master." Yaxley added, voice dripping with conviction.

"We implore you." Narcissa chimed in, "Today is crucial, and if things were to get out of hand it is vital to have a healer with you. Allow us to accompany you, my Lord."

Admittedly, he found it peculiar how she said 'us' rather than 'me'. It was almost as though…

Should he even dare hope?

"Master," Walden and Severus muttered, the title itself a plea.

"Lucius, Rodolphus, Narcissa, Bellatrix." Voldemort announced suddenly, "Those of you who heard your name are permitted to come along." He turned around, walking back to a surprisingly quiet Harry. "The rest of you are to await our return."

There was a hesitant tugging at the sleeve of his cloak when he walked past, halting him from taking another step. Harry wasn't looking at him once he turned though, but rather at a spot behind them.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" he seethed upon finding his followers still kneeling.

All of them stiffened at his tone, yet none made a move to follow his order.

"My Lord," Lucius ventured tentatively, "it's our solemn duty to watch over you, but we do it together. You said you favor none, so please, don't make exceptions. Let us all go with you."

Now this, was quite a surprise.

Had this happened before, they'd have jumped at the opportunity to best one another. And here he had thought the time for his Inner Circle to surprise him had long since passed.

"Rise," he commanded sharply, and after the initial hesitation, they did.

"Lucius-Yaxley, Rabastan-Severus, Walden-Antonin, Bellatrix-Barty, Rodolphus-Narcissa." he listed off, earning identical odd looks from them all. "You will be working in pairs today. Your job is to ensure your assigned partner is protected at all times and at all cost. Just this once, your duty will be first to your partner and second to me, understand?"

Several of them started saying something but he shushed them with a swipe of his hand. "Is that clear?" he repeated, putting emphasis on each word.

They gave low nods.

Voldemort returned the gesture briefly before whirling on his heel and striding back towards Harry only to frown at the searching look the other was giving him. "Yes?"

The boy suddenly blinked, as though reaching a certain epiphany. "You're proud of them." he declared, albeit quietly, and it was the only reason why Voldemort didn't have him writhing on the floor right there and then.

"That's preposterous."

"But you are." Harry persisted, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

Voldemort felt his eye twitch.

With a scoff, he proceeded to outright ignore the little menace and flicked his wrist, grasping gently the Elder Wand once it was released from the holster he had placed it in and waved it once, wordlessly performing the Summoning Charm. An object came soaring from the cellar and now it was his turn to smile when it knocked right into Harry, wiping that silly grin right off his face and replacing it with a grimace.

The teen, however, tightened his grip the moment he recognized what it was exactly that he was holding.

"Hedwig!" he exclaimed and was answered by an equally enthusiastic hoot.

He put the cage down, fussing over the bird and checking her through the bars for any injuries. "Did you feed her while I was unconscious?" he asked sharply, only to be distracted a moment later by the clucking of the bird's beak. He cooed an apology and started petting her feathers anew, leaving Voldemort to scowl at his antics.

"She's useless to me dead." He snapped his thumb and forefinger, the door of the iron cage bursting open without warning, missing knocking into the boy's knees merely because Harry had the common sense to jump away in time.

The owl didn't linger for even a split second; she hopped through the small opening and once her wings were no longer restricted, flapped onto her owner's shoulder.

Round golden eyes intentionally sought Voldemort's gaze, black talons digging pointedly into a clothed shoulder.

"Rip that cloak, bird, and you'll find yourself with no feathers left."

"The cloak?!" Harry cried out in furious indignation. "I'm not a plaything for you two. You!" he shifted his glare from wizard to animal. "Off with you, now!" and he promptly pushed an incredulous Hedwig off his shoulder, following her through hooded eyes as she perched herself on the marble mantelpiece.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry grumbled when she puffed out her chest, rubbing his stinging shoulder. "Sulk all you want, see if I care."

"Did she pierce the skin?" Severus moved to grasp the boy's arm, and Voldemort had just made to halt the Potions Master's advance when Harry stepped back on his own, twisting his body to the side in order to shield his shoulder from view.

"It's fine. I'll probably add another bruise to my arsenal, but no big deal, right?"

Severus' expression darkened. "Your impeccable manners are a wonder to behold, as always."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Harry said with mock uncertainty, hand moving over his heart in a dramatic imitation of regret. "I should thank you, yes? For everything you've done for me?"

"As a matter of fact, you should." Severus rebuked, "If it weren't for me, Potter, you would have bled to death after that foolish stunt you pulled with your skull. Not to mention, you would have suffered a torturously slow death due to infection if I hadn't seen to your shoulder blade."

Harry scowled. "Please, as if he'd ever allow me the luxury of death; not when I'm his one link to immortality. He needs me to maintain ownership over the cloak, and consequently, Death."

Green orbs suddenly jerked to his face, the teen walking closer with steady strides. "But that's not all…" Harry went on, "He also needs me in order to stroke his enormous ego, to flaunt me around for everyone to see." The young wizard stopped mere inches away from him and Voldemort had to use every ounce of control he owned to not curl a possessive arm around that slim waist when Harry leaned up.

"Aren't I the greatest trophy you ever attained, Tom? Aren't I your treasure?"

Those dark tinted lips were so close now, the boy's hot breath fanning across his own mouth as he spoke.

How naïve that child was. His mind was so ridiculously innocent that not once did his thoughts stray towards more inappropriate paths even as he almost glued their bodies together, only thinking of taunting him and so frustratingly oblivious to the tantalizing effect their proximity invoked in Voldemort's body.

He was a combination of the most opposing forces in existence; love and hatred, darkness and light, life and death.

Not that he expected any less of the being that had unknowingly housed a piece of Lord Voldemort for sixteen years and remained untainted by the black nature of such a soul; a being that contained inside his body the deadly poison of the King of Serpents and the healing tears of the purest creature, second only to a unicorn.

Moreover, it was the one person that had achieved to slip right through his fingers on more occasions than he cared to recount.

How could he not then? How could he not find such a person irresistible? Especially now that he had finally gotten a hold of him and seen so many more sides to the Boy-Who-Lived than the persona Dumbledore wanted to orchestrate.

"I wonder, are you prepared for what those words entail?"

The first traces of wariness flickered across Harry's face.

Voldemort's lips twitched and before Harry's instinct was given the opportunity to guess at the danger that loomed in the air, he grasped the boy's shoulders and forced his body around, one hand securing over a protruding hipbone while the other encircled two thin wrists and held them together away from his body.

"Wha-!?"

"Tell me, my Circle, doesn't he look marvelous in these clothes?"

"Tom!" Harry shouted, thrashing against him, but Voldemort merely tightened his grip around the youth's wrists.

"Answer me," he commanded shortly and his Death Eaters shared uneasy looks between themselves, all of them presenting him with reluctant nods.

Voldemort, however, wasn't appeased. "Answer me verbally. Lucius?"

The blond aristocrat cleared his throat, self-conscious for being put in the spotlight for perhaps the first time in his life. "They do suit him, my Lord."

"Oi, what are you-!?"

"What do you think Barty, Rabastan? Tempting enough to ravish?"

Thoughts a jumbled mess from the humiliation, Harry's struggles gained ferocity while in the meantime, the two wizards he had addressed swiveled their heads from side to side.

"Don't lie to me," he hissed when they opened their mouths to do just that.

Both pairs of eyes turned downcast, shoulders slumping in apprehension. "Yes, my Lord." they chorused tentatively, hesitant to voice their very thoughts despite the dire consequences they'd be facing if they didn't.

Harry tensed in his arms, motions ceasing, and Voldemort had to suppress a throaty growl at the heat that pooled at the base of the teen's neck once he lifted his gaze and saw the way the Death Eaters were looking at him. Instead, he bent his head, lips tracing that soft column of flesh and reveling in the gasp he elicited.

"Knock it off!"

Furious hooting rung throughout the room an instant before black talons aimed for his face, forcing Voldemort to take a step back. Lips tilting down into a snarl, he threw out his arm, his magic more than eager to crush that pest's neck. Oh, how he'd love to make that meddling animal squeal.

"Don't. You. Dare." a voice bit out, and momentarily stunned at the dark undertone, Voldemort shifted his gaze from the hovering owl to the side where Harry stood, arm held out in a stance precisely like his, with his palm splayed out and facing him.

He could sense the teen's magic struggling to gather together, craving to answer its master's call.

"Commendable as your tries may have been, you aren't qualified to take on a Dark Lord yet."

Harry didn't answer.

Lush lips pursed together for a moment before the teen directed his attention to his pet, calling the bird to him by mutely patting his uninjured shoulder. Golden orbs seemed to glue on the movement, white wings flapping swiftly to shorten the distance and once she was close enough, the feathery appendages folded against her body and she dove all the way down, gracefully landing on the exact spot Harry had indicated.

Resisting the tempting urge to scoff when the owl rubbed her head affectionately against Harry's cheek, Voldemort made his way over.

That bird's mood swings could quite possibly outrival his own legendary ones.

Vivid green eyes focused on his figure the very second he took his first step, the satisfaction he felt at having the boy's senses so immaculately attuned to his every motion creating a perfectly drumming rhythm within his pulse, steady and strong. The boy wasn't aware of it, but he was always studying Voldemort with just as much intent as he himself did.

Those attentive orbs observed his approach, Harry's arm still not having lowered, magic bustling in anticipation.

He halted in front of him, Harry's outstretched palm mere inches from his robed chest and simply stared at the boy, mostly curious about his next course of action.

Harry stared boldly back, a feat no other soul had ever accomplished with the sole exception of his original Inner Circle. A torrent of emotions was swirling through the boy, varying from suspicion, to nervousness, to anger for his previous actions and stemming directly from that there was uncertainty and a myriad other sensations associated with the feeling.

Voldemort tilted his head slightly to the side, accessing his core and letting a portion of his magic slip out and coil around that clothed limb.

Harry's fingers twitched unconsciously at the touch and for a moment he just looked strangely at them upon finding nothing out of the ordinary. It didn't take long though for his eyes to widen in realization, sensing the invisible tendrils of magic weaving around his digits.

Never before having experienced anything similar, the teen turned his hand this way and that, transfixed when the warm sensation didn't dispel with the movement.

Then, the owl ruffled her feathers, effectively startling Harry out of his reverie.

Only barely restraining himself from Cursing the spiteful bird, Voldemort called back his magic and Harry didn't waste any time to shove his hand into the pocket of his pants.

"Order me again, _my treasssure_, and I promise you'll live to regret it." he said sweetly, the smile on his face as cold and deadly as ice, and relished the spine-raking shudders that assaulted the boy.

"Come, my friends." he said, facing his assembled followers. "Time is of the essence, and we have wasted enough as it is."

His Death Eaters bowed deeply, answering with a collective, "Yes, my Lord."

He grasped Harry's arm with more force than necessary, and before the other could protest, he accessed the Manor's wards and once they recognized his keyed-in presence, he Apparated them both outside, aware his Inner Circle would be popping out after him.

Now, to summon the Outer Circle and all the required pieces would be assembled.

It was playtime.

_**TBC…**_

**A/N: **I've got to admit I always enjoy writing Harry's perspective more, but I have to reveal Voldemort's view from time to time, so there you have it!

Next chapter is going to be Harry's pov.

Please review!


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

The moment his feet reconnected with solid ground, Harry wrenched his arm free and mentally applauded himself for not outright puking the entire meal he had consumed. Why the heck did side-along Apparition affect him this much? It was starting to become really annoying, actually. He doubted any of his undesired company felt like a mess after each trip.

A couple of tell-tale pops alerted him of the arrival of said company.

He grimaced, arm encircling his midsection when his stomach churned unpleasantly. Dear Merlin, and just when he thought it couldn't get any worse. Was it because he had eaten not too long ago?

This time, his stomach actually rumbled in protest and Voldemort shot him a searching look, hand rising to take a hold of his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he rushed to assure, moving backwards to avoid the questing limb and ending up bumping into someone behind him. He twisted his head just in time to catch sight of Barty hurrying out of the way, an alarmed look on his face that Harry would have normally found comical if he weren't too busy jumping out of his skin at the unexpectedness of the action.

In his surprise, he had unintentionally moved sideways and earned a grunt from the next person he slammed into. From then on, it was exactly like the domino effect.

The Death Eater he'd run into would go scurrying away like he was suffering from a severe case of pox and they didn't want to catch it, and of course, he'd be sent into panic mode each time it happened, colliding with more people in his hurry to escape. And Bellatrix didn't help matters in the slightest with the way she bristled like an enraged cat when he accidentally stepped on her foot.

"Be still!" the Dark Lord barked suddenly, and even though they couldn't be certain whom he was addressing, everyone seemed to freeze on the spot.

Heart beating a furious tempo behind his chest, Harry went willingly when familiar fingers wrapped around his wrist and guided him away from the mass. Voldemort pulled him to his side, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "You're a walking disaster." the man declared gravely.

"Of course it'd be my fault." Harry huffed, "Your minions are acting like I've got the plague or something and yet I'm the one at blame."

He ignored Voldemort's hopeless shake of the head and held his arm out for Hedwig to land on since she had taken flight after the umpteenth time he was jostled around. She landed with feminine grace, curling her long talons with care around his offered arm so as not to tear the cloak and Harry had to wonder whether the Dark Lord's threat contained some truth after all. His owl certainly seemed to think so, what with the way she kept readjusting her grip.

Well, he had learnt long ago that his girl's sixth sense was more prominent than in other animals, so he was willing to place his trust on her instinct at times like this.

Her feathery head swiveled suddenly to the side, and following her line of sight, Harry couldn't fail but blink when a snowy bird emerged from a nearby bush. Its long neck dived backwards inside the white folds of its feathers to preen itself before it seemed to straighten up and stroll over.

Dull, obsidian eyes passed over them all briefly in dismissal before its attention was drawn to Hedwig and eyed the way she was perched on his arm, for a moment there making Harry worry it was actually going to try it out for itself.

Hedwig mustn't have appreciated it either, because she hooted loudly in a tone the raven haired teen had come to recognize as reproachful.

The other bird trilled back in an obnoxious sort of voice and walked past, long tail swishing lazily behind.

An awkward silence stretched out, until Harry couldn't take it anymore and snorted. "Seriously? A peacock?"

There was a grunt of affirmation from somewhere in the rear.

Harry flashed Voldemort a weird look. "You've got _really_ peculiar taste."

Crimson orbs gave him a sideways glare, "It's not _my_ taste." the older wizard spat, as though the mere prospect offended him.

"I don't see what's wrong with peacocks." Malfoy Sr. commented from the background and having heard that tone one too many times, Harry could already picture the man with his arms folded across his chest and chin jutting upwards in that pureblood, snobbish way Draco did.

"You certainly wouldn't." Harry said idly, gently positioning Hedwig on his shoulder so that he could have free use of his arm again, "I swear, nothing's flamboyant enough for a Malfoy."

He turned in time to see Rodolphus' brother, Rabastan Lestrange, exchange a look with Barty and soon enough, booming laughter was ringing throughout the open space.

"Only a while in your fabulous company and he's got you figured out already." Rabastan huffed out between fits of laughter, arms crossed over his abdomen.

"This is priceless," Barty said, grinning widely and Harry found himself strangely amused by the whole scene despite their out of character behavior a few minutes prior.

Malfoy himself scoffed, sending a disapproving look Snape's way when the Potions Master coughed lightly into his fist.

"My Circle," Voldemort announced, and all ruckus ceased at once as every single pair of eyes turned towards him, "take positions." His words were met with wicked smiles and grins, the Death Eaters maneuvering between themselves to form a semi circle around the Dark Lord.

They took out their wands and upon their Master's signal, the hoods of their cloaks were drawn up and familiar bone-white masks materialized over their faces, concealing them from view.

Voldemort inspected them all and once he deemed them acceptable, gestured Harry closer.

Guard shooting up, the teen approached him warily, finding unnerving the effect those masks always had on him. They left him feeling incredibly exposed; especially after his fourth year when Voldemort had tortured him under those gazes.

"Concentrate, Harry." the Dark Lord chastised, reaching out before the teen could so much as open his mouth and tugged at the hood of the black cloak until it was hanging low over his eyes. His ability to see with perfect clarity behind the dark material had him momentarily floored, to the point he actually forgot what he had meant to say.

"Ok, that's kinda cool." was what he settled for in the end.

Voldemort chuckled lightly before his expression turned somber, instantly putting Harry on alert. "I need you to erase everything that has made up your existence so far. You are no longer the Boy-Who-Lived. The person standing before them today will be the Dark Prince, and he is going to act like it."

Harry frowned, the action going unseen under the coverage of the hood. "So in other words, you want me to what, declare my undying loyalty to your cause?"

Voldemort arched a single eyebrow at his blatant sarcasm. "Naturally, that is a given for a Dark Prince. What I want, however, is something far easier; for you to act like me."

The teen blinked, once and then twice, before a nervous laugh tumbled from his lips. "Like you…" he repeated slowly, certain he had somehow misheard.

The Dark Lord nodded, the corners of his mouth curling to the side to morph into a dark smile. "A tad milder version of me, but yes. I doubt you will find it as hard a task as you seem to think."

Harry gulped, dreading that possibility more than anything else.

"Fret not," Voldemort said pleasantly, "You should be given plenty of time to practice before our arrival at Diagon."

"Huh?"

"Pardon!" Voldemort corrected sharply, causing Harry to start. "No more ineloquent speech until after your task."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Gee, what a high opinion you have of me."

"Your vocabulary leaves plenty to be desired, and what did I just say?"

"Fine!" Harry consented, exasperated. "How am I supposed to practice, anyway?"

"My Outer Circle will be summoned shortly," Voldemort explained, "and they have been most anxious to learn of the fate that has befallen Harry Potter. However, having never met him in person before, it is entirely up to you which persona they'll witness."

"Wait…" Harry said uncertainly, "persona?"

Voldemort inclined his head. "I rather liked the word you used before to describe the task I assigned. You see, Harry, I want you to perform, to assume the role of the Dark Prince so brilliantly that you'll persuade even myself."

Harry's face scrunched up, finding high unlikely the possibility of something like that occurring.

"You can't just-" he pursed his lips, "Look, I've no idea what it's like to be your heir or whoever it is you want me to impersonate."

A languid smirk manifested on the Dark Lord's face. "Don't you?"

Harry frowned, not appreciative in the slightest of the insinuation behind that question. "No," he replied with conviction, "I certainly don't."

Voldemort looked fairly unimpressed, but fortunately, Harry was spared any additional comments since the man turned to the side. "Lucius," he called softly, holding out his hand, and the black robed figure directly to his right stepped forward, drawing the sleeve of his cloak all the way up to the elbow and dutifully placing his arm within the Dark Lord's awaiting hand.

Mutely, Voldemort grasped his arm and turned it so, facing the underside where the Dark Mark was located, coal black against the pale flesh. He inspected it for a while, eyes attentive as they studied every single detail of his design, before he raised long fingers, brushing them lightly down the length of the marking.

Malfoy's muscles twitched at the feathery touch, the almost imperceptible shudder that coursed through his frame making Harry look away, distinctly uncomfortable.

When Voldemort had touched the Dark Mark on Wormtail's arm, the animagus had fallen to his knees, expression stricken with pain and mouth agape in a soundless scream. Somehow, he got the feeling that wasn't the case with Malfoy Sr.

Which got him thinking…

These people, the Inner Circle Death Eaters, they were loyal to Voldemort, right? They had proven it earlier. So, how did they feel when the person they appeared to revere bestowed even the barest affection upon them? Were they grateful? Pleased even?

Did they…appreciate it?

The looks he sometimes caught Voldemort appraising him with, had him on edge. He felt like he was under scrutiny all the bloody time, as though he needed to be on alert in case of an impeding attack. Voldemort had always confused him, his way of thinking and the motives that guided his actions, but never this much. Ever since having been brought here, forced in the man's continued company, he was constantly agitated.

Was it because he was so vulnerable?

Deprived of his wand, and made to discover aspects of himself he never knew existed, the only thing keeping him alive was the Horcrux inside him and the use Voldemort had of him because of it.

Who would have thought it? Oh, the plain, blatant irony.

Harry visibly started the moment multiple popping sounds went off, and managed to gather his bearings only just, righting his posture and straightening his back in the nick of time. The hood over his face gave him the advantage of successfully concealing what undoubtedly would've been a look of pure shock at the sheer number of people Apparating inside the gardens.

The place was huge and yet the black clad bodies made it look like a hovel with the way they barely fit in the space.

Heartbeat accelerating almost instantly, Harry had to ball his hands into fists in an attempt to rein in their uncontrollable shaking.

How the heck was he going to perform for such a massive crowd?

Nerves already frizzled, the raven haired teen stifled a groan when the Death Eaters' gazes seemed to locate Hedwig and then spluttering and chocking sounds filled the air. He really detested how people seemed to know everything there was to know about him and yet he knew nothing about them; what pet he had chosen, what House he had been Sorted into, how he was doing in his studies…

At least the people before him were excused only because the Boy-Who-Lived was supposedly their Master's nemesis. It was only natural to want to know who your enemy was, right? Dumbledore had been adamant that he learnt everything there was to know about that little boy in the orphanage, and the person he turned out to be.

"Welcome, my followers," Voldemort took a couple of steps forward, sunlight rays catching on his pale complexion as he moved and giving his flesh marble-like appearance.

Silence settled and even with the bone-white masks on, Harry knew every pair of eyes was glued on the Dark Lord.

"The day has finally come," the man continued, "when we reveal our true power to the world, show them its potential…" he paused momentarily, lips quirking, "along with its undeniable sway." He finished with a flourish of his arm, gesturing imperiously in Harry's direction and it was as clear a cue as any for him to pick up where Voldemort left off.

Lowering his hood, Harry stepped forward, aware the Death Eaters had guessed at his identity long before he revealed himself.

As expected, there were no additional sounds of surprise, save for the scathing "You," one of them murmured.

Green eyes centered on the emerging figure, trying to discern any distinguishable features but the mask hid his entire face. Still… that gruff voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"My Lord," the person turned to the Dark Lord, "surely there's been a mistake. This person is-" but he cut himself off, head swiveling back towards Harry, "How dare you stand beside him?" he spat, earning encouraging nods of the head from his fellows. Harry paid them no mind.

Head tilting to the side, he beckoned to his right with his hand, where he remembered Crouch Jr. to be standing.

"Barty," he called out loud and clear, hoping Voldemort's Inner Circle played along and didn't put up any arguments in front of the people he was meant to impress. He would have preferred it to be someone else, if he was honest, but the only other people he was familiar with in that group were Snape and Narcissa Malfoy.

The former he'd sooner bite his own tongue till it bled rather than ask for his help and the latter, well, he actually thought she was alright, but there was still the fact she was a woman, and he didn't know whether the Death Eaters outside of the Circle held her in high regard.

There was a moment's hesitation, probably noticeable to him because he had been waiting with bated breath, but the next second a masked figure was standing by his side, inclining their head in a bow.

Gasps arose from the crowd before them, but Harry didn't allow himself to be distracted, not when he was on a roll.

Keeping Voldemort's desired changes of speech in his mind, Harry told him, "State the name of that man and assigned rank."

Barty nodded in compliance. "That's Gregory Goyle Sr. He belongs to the Middle Tier."

Middle Tier? He didn't even know there were more ranks besides the Inner and Outer Circle. At least he knew it was below the Inner Circle in worth. Perhaps, as the name itself suggested, it was positioned between the two Circles. Higher than the Outer but never equal to the Inner.

Merlin, to think he was giving Voldemort's ranks such thought…

"Goyle Sr.," he said eventually, only then recognizing from where he knew that voice. A laugh burst from his lips and he didn't need to pose as someone else to have reason to say what he did, "Not so mighty now, are you?" he mocked, lips curling into a cruel smile. "Who would have thought that two years from that night in the graveyard, where you jeered and taunted me as your Master set one Torture Curse after the other upon me, that you'd be demoted lower even than the schoolboy you so arrogantly made a fool of?"

"I gave nothing you didn't rightfully deserve." Goyle's words held such a strong resemblance to Bellatrix's that a jolt of seething hot fury sizzled throughout Harry's body.

Part of his emotions must have showed on his face, because next thing he knew, the man was shaking his head in the most demeaning manner Harry had ever seen. He had seen Voldemort mimic that same action hundreds of times, with himself at the receiving end of it on a regular basis, but coming from someone like Goyle Sr. made it appear all the more offending.

"As if you could ever outrank me, boy, or any of us." He spread his arms wide to indicate the gathered mass behind him. "I don't know what your business in our midst is, but you're clearly deluded if you think a sniveling brat like yourself could ever hold a candle against us."

"_Did you actually believe that children stood a chance against us?"_

That was what Lucius Malfoy had said last year in the Ministry, and Harry could still remember his desperation upon hearing those words because yes, they had been naïve enough to think that they were a match for Inner Circle Death Eaters. His friends had all been captured because of him and if the Order hadn't come when they did, he didn't know what else might have befallen them.

But he was different now, and the people before him didn't possess half the skills the members of Voldemort's elite did.

It was silly really, how absurdly pleased that realization made him feel and he couldn't fail but throw his head back and laugh so hard that Hedwig was jostled by the motion and flapped onto the nearest branch.

"It's as I suspected then," he said, chuckling one final time, "stupidity must run in the family. Like father like son, I suppose."

He could see the man's fists clench tightly by his sides, causing a haughty smirk to form on Harry's face. "You amuse me, truly, you do…" his eyes hardened, narrowing into a vicious glare, "Unfortunately, you annoy me more than you entertain me."

Voldemort wanted Harry to act like him, right? Fine, he'd get his wish.

'_Time to make yourself useful.' _He mentally announced and the resulting stirring in the furthest corner of his mind was almost simultaneous.

He bent his knees and sprinted forward, the Death Eaters drawing back in surprise, not expecting him to suddenly run towards them. Goyle went to do the same only to scowl fiercely when he found his legs unmoving. Glancing down, he nearly choked on his own spit at the sight of those thick, pitch black roots that had bloomed from the ground and encircled his ankles in a fierce, unyielding embrace.

He fumbled for his wand, searching frantically in the inside pockets of his cloak and as though sensing his intentions, the roots spread in both length and size, swiftly climbing all the way up to his knees where they halted, applying pressure and eventually forcing his knees to buckle.

Harry was already there by then, wrapping fingers around his throat mid-flight and using the man's momentum to his advantage to slam him all the way down to the ground.

Goyle smashed against the hard surface, breath visibly being knocked out of his lungs as a result.

Eyes having closed involuntarily from the impact, they fluttered open with effort once he registered the weight that settled itself upon his stomach. For a moment there, all he could see was blackness, until he caught sight of the pair of eyes centered solely on him.

The hood of Potter's cloak had apparently been drawn up at some point, accidentally or on purpose he didn't know, and the upper half of his face was shrouded in impenetrable darkness.

That wasn't what had caught his attention, however…

Deep inside that vast blackness, two luminous orbs were gazing down at him with the very same intent a predator on a hunt observed its intended victim, making his whole frame grow rigid.

Then, as if drawn by some magnetic force, his gaze moved to that single, blazing red eye that sported a vertical pupil, a slit-like line that would've been missed entirely if it weren't for the close proximity. Clearly, his inspection hadn't gone unnoticed, for green and red eyes crinkled in identical amusement and in stark contrast to the nearly gentle sentiment, Potter's lips morphed into a twisted half-smile so abnormal by human standards that it came out as grotesque a sight as any.

On pure instinct, Goyle's mouth fell open into a high pitched scream, the sound of which never made it out as Potter's fingers fastened their hold on his throat fast enough that he ended up choking instead.

What felt like a lifetime later, that hand was removed, and its place claimed a vine similar to the ones entrapping his legs.

Lips, smooth and warm, hovered over his ear, brushing lightly against the shell every time they parted to speak, "Things have changed, you know. If I so desired, you'd be the one writhing on the floor, screaming worse than I did under Voldemort's own Cruciatus..."

This time he truly did scream, howled in agony as spike-like thorns erupted from the vine's depths and embedded themselves beneath his flesh.

They may had avoided any major arteries, but when he coughed, blood still spurted from his throat, spraying over his mouth and chin.

Potter's face loomed over him, that unsettling smile firmly in place still. "…I can promise you that." he finished, and Goyle believed him; trembled before the cruelty reflected in that red eye, as vivid and palpable as his Lord's.

What…what had become of Harry Potter? This wasn't the child he had met two years ago.

The boy rose to his feet, sneering down at him with an intensity that suggested he was possibly one of the filthiest creatures he had ever laid eyes upon, and Goyle was left there, immobile by the roots that still held strong, eerily similar to the steeliness of iron shackles.

Taking a deep breath, Harry focused on the rest of the Death Eaters, feeling a surge of deep satisfaction the moment they all stiffened.

"I am the single person the Dark Lord has chosen as his heir, and the only one he shall ever gift with the title of the Dark Prince." His words were dripping with arrogance, he knew, but he intended them to be that way.

These people were supposed to be beneath him, and at that moment, with his magic alive and thriving just underneath his skin, he actually felt like they were. "You would do well to remember that the next time any of you questions me and my presence here. For I am _his _Chosen One."

Finding his role adequately performed for the time being, and steadfastly refusing to acknowledge how deeply the words he just uttered cut, Harry turned the other way, walking back towards Voldemort with a calm that he most definitely didn't feel…

'_You fool! You mussst turn back!'_

…not even close.

'_Be quiet,' _he thought back, but he could sense the presence he had deliberately summoned to the forefront of his mind wasn't quite done.

'_Imbecile! Go back and finisssh what you ssstarted.'_

'_Shut the hell up!' _he screamed inside his head, biting his lip at the fierce pounding the Horcrux's resistance had brought. Barty was still standing in the very spot he had left him, which suited the raven haired teen just fine, actually. "Give me a moment," he whispered as he walked past, the urgency in his tone plain and simple to garner.

He didn't know if the man had given some sort of sign or his voice had carried out a tad louder than he had intended, but another black robed figure separated itself from the semi circle they had formed around the Dark Lord and went to stand next to Barty, efficiently hiding Harry's form from sight, and just in time as well since the next relentless hammering inside his skull had Harry clutching his head in a vice grip.

'_Make him sssuffer for his insssolence!' _the Horcrux continued undeterred and Harry's face contorted at the loudness with which it yelled.

He could feel the stares of the Inner Circle regardless of their faces being covered, but Voldemort's was the heaviest of them all, and its presence actually reminded Harry they would be departing soon.

He forced himself to listen to what was being said, catching only snippets of Barty's sentence, "-ell to do so."

Another voice piped up right behind Harry's back, "You should know better than to act in such a shameful manner before our Master." and Harry recognized it to belong to Rabastan Lestrange. He must have been the one to join Barty.

Still, they couldn't stall for an infinite amount of time.

He needed to hurry.

'_Get back,' _he told the Horcrux fervently.

'_You ssshould be more appreciative of the company. Now, do asss I sssay and end him!'_

'_No,' _he growled, _'You're the one who's going to listen; I have no more use for you, so get lost. The feel of you makes me sick.'_

There was a lapse, momentary as it was, the pounding headache relented if only for a little while, providing Harry with ample opportunity to grasp hold of the presence he had released and force it back the way it had come. By the time it snapped out of whatever sort of stupor it had been induced in, Harry had already shoved the black shard as far back as it could go, disgusted by the murderous sentiments it had briefly implanted in him.

With the return of awareness, sound trickled slowly back in place, for a moment making him dizzy at how loud everything seemed to be.

Grimacing in discomfort, Harry raked a hand through his hair to give the spikes their natural appearance back after having tousled them up. He flexed his hands, and after ensuring his face was as close to passive as he could get it, Harry extracted himself from the two bodies that were shielding him and made his way over to Voldemort like nothing was amiss.

The Dark wizard eyed him speculatively as he approached and the teen returned the look, "So…?" he probed when Voldemort made no indication to speak. "What did you think?" he asked softly, quietly, cautious to not let his words be heard by any prying ears.

Voldemort made a dismissive sound. "Passable, at the very least."

Harry's mouth fell open before he could stop it, but a sharp look from those scarlet eyes had him snapping it close. "There's no pleasing you, is there?"

"Each time you spoke, I counted eight alternate ways you could have phrased yourself."

He'd have thrown his arms in the air if he could. But, since that wasn't an option, he settled for a heavenward roll of the eyes. "Give me a break. Actions speak better than words, wouldn't you say? Oh, by the way…" he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the spot Goyle Sr. still lay. "the arrogant prick stays back. I wouldn't put it past him to Curse me the very instant I turn my back."

Voldemort's fingertips lifted to his lips, tapping them lightly in a pondering manner. "Well, I wouldn't be concerned with their motives anymore, if I were you. Especially not after you made it so painstakingly clear that you belong to me, and they do know better than to involve themselves with anything of mine."

"What the-? When did I say…?" Harry blanched, occurring to him suddenly that he might have dug his own grave. "No!" he whispered, frantic. "That's not-! Dammit, I didn't mean it like that and you know it."

"Language," Voldemort hissed just as quietly. "And yes, the meaning was quite clear to me; the chosen Prince, my Chosen One. Rather ingenious, actually, coming from you, the way you bended the title our society labeled you with to suit the situation."

Momentarily sidetracked, Harry couldn't help but grumble, "Only you can fit a compliment and an insult in the same sentence so marvelously. And _that_," he hurried to add when he noticed the other wizard's smug smirk, "wasn't a compliment." There was a snort-like laugh from somewhere nearby, and although Harry couldn't discern between the two masked figures, Voldemort's bark of, "Barty!" gave him a hint as to who it was. Barty muttered his apologies, bowing to his waist, but it was obvious from Voldemort's general air that in the man's opinion they had been idle for more than enough time.

"Severus," he called suddenly, addressing one of the black clad bodies a little ways behind, "would you happen to carry Essence of Dittany with you?"

Snape separated himself from the others, reaching within his robes and presenting Voldemort with the inquired vial. "I always come prepared. Should I administer it, my Lord?"

Voldemort nodded, "Yes, do that, but be quick about it. There's still one final engagement that needs to be met." Snape went to do as ordered, and Voldemort flicked his wrist, his old bone white wand slipping into his hand.

"_Reducto!" _he whispered, the spell flying just above Snape's shoulder and connecting with the immobile body on the ground. Upon contact, the black roots burst into tattered pieces, empty and lifeless, and yet Goyle didn't move, even as Snape kneeled by his side and let a few drops of the potion he was holding into the open, fresh wounds.

Harry frowned when his former professor finished his job and stood and there was still no outer reaction from the other man. "Did I-? I didn't damage anything important, right?"

"Not in the slightest," Snape drawled as he passed by him to join his fellow Circle, "His body has simply gone into shock. He should be fine in an hour or so."

"Pathetic," Rabastan sneered, turning around to reclaim the vacant spot amidst the Death Eaters, Barty mouthing his agreement as he did the same.

Voldemort himself didn't bother to hide the displeased curl of his lips. "Indeed," he said, looking briefly at the paralyzed Goyle before directing his focus on the rest of the Outer Circle. "Starting tomorrow, your regime's being altered; intensive training and endurance lessons with the entire Inner Circle _and _myself."

Harry could have sworn that for a few precious seconds the crowd the Dark Lord was addressing actually ceased breathing. He himself had to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress a snicker.

Almost unconsciously, his eyes jerked to the skeletal wand when it vanished in the holster strapped to Voldemort's forearm.

"I thought you preferred the Hallow." Harry explained upon noticing the raised eyebrow he was being regarded with. "Didn't you say the Elder Wand was unstoppable or something?"

"My wand, much like your owl, is my signature; something people have learnt to recognize. I need it as confirmation since I no longer possess the appearance I used to; we wouldn't want them to doubt the identity of their own ruler, would we?"

"Your modesty knows no bounds." replied Harry dryly.

"It's called reality, my treasure." Voldemort answered, mimicking his tone. "Make haste, we're departing!" he announced to all onlookers before turning back to Harry. "And I don't need the Elder Wand's protection, nor the victory it guaranties its wielder. I have already won."

It was enough to put a damper on the overall light mood Harry had been in.

"Yes," he said somberly, any traces of humor evaporating into thin air, "How could I ever forget?" It was rhetoric, of course. In the havoc of the past few days, amidst of getting acquainted with his wandless magic and discovering the potential influence of the Horcrux's awareness, Harry had actually lost sight of the one main factor in this whole power game the Dark Lord had weaved around him…

…There was no escape; not for him, and not for the entire world.

Voldemort had been untouchable even before, with Dumbledore's prominent threat just barely keeping him in line. In the end, the single only bane in his reign had been himself, because he had fallen victim of circumstance and his own hasty presumptions, otherwise he'd have chosen not to act upon some flimsy, questionable prophesy he had only heard part of. Voldemort himself had ensured his doom.

Now, however, with Dumbledore dealt with and unable to do anything other than inflict a deep sense of mighty satisfaction within the Dark Lord, and his supposed nemesis stored away like a worthy prize he wouldn't allow anyone else to have, what could possibly be done?

By having ownership over all three of the Hallows, Voldemort had become truly immortal, nothing could touch him anymore.

An eternal Dark Lord, with magic more powerful than any of his predecessors…

The notion of it was too frightening to behold.

Black suddenly bombarded his sight, the dark fabric of Voldemort's sleeve as he made an arch with his arm.

"Remember to remain hidden until you are called. Now, go!"

With bows so low that Harry feared they might just smash their noses against the ground, they popped out of the lavish gardens, leaving only concrete silence in their wake.

He could hear the remaining Death Eaters shuffle uneasily behind him, undoubtedly having caught on to the strange chill that had seeped in the air around them.

No matter where they were, in the same room or miles apart even, Voldemort was always keeping tabs on his thoughts, he knew that, and he detested that, but there was no way for him to block the Dark Lord from his mind. He was always there nowadays, a constant presence that intruded in on his privacy, and sometimes, when the man felt like sharing, he'd open up his own side of the link, letting Harry in on emotions so turbulent and hectic, he'd rather not have known at all.

At least, they used to be like that. Ever since he had absorbed the wayward pieces of himself, their link hadn't opened up once. He tried not to think of the last time it happened, and of the pain, both their pain, that had exploded inside him like a landmine.

Truthfully, the situation hadn't changed much.

Just like then, now too he was being invaded by all sides; from within and from outside, all by different parts of the same person. The Horcrux and the original had him surrounded, to the point he felt like he was smothered by them and the pressure they kept applying on him.

A thumb stroked over his cheekbone, causing him to recoil at both the touch and the warmth that seeped beneath his skin.

"Careful now, darling." Voldemort purred, a sickly sweet smile tugging at his lips, "Your thoughts are bordering on treacherous."

"Why?" Harry shot back, awfully bitter. "What more can you do to me?"

A brief, humorless laugh escaped the man's throat. "My naïve, little thing." he murmured condescendingly, chuckling still. "You think you're damaged already?" His smile and jovial expression were extinguished like they had never been brought into existence, the cruel gleam that suddenly entered those crimson orbs darkening his entire features. "Wait until I'm truly and thoroughly done with the construction of your mind."

Harry pursed his lips, feeling resentment root deep within his very core, poisonous and deadly. "Well then," he started sarcastically, "don't forget to inform me when your work's over."

"Inform you?" Voldemort repeated slowly, pointedly, as though the teen had said the most ridiculous of things. He shook his head. "Believe me, when I am, you will _know._ Now fetch your pet, we're leaving."

Harry wanted to scream.

He called Hedwig to him, and once she landed on his shoulder, Voldemort reached out for his arm.

"Don't touch me." He growled, swatting away the long fingers. "I told you before; I'm not your bloody pet. I'm not your minion either, so that you can order me around."

Purposely ignoring the narrowed eyed look directed at him, Harry bypassed Voldemort and approached Malfoy Sr. "Mrs. Malfoy?" he questioned uncertainly, not really sure if the person beside him was actually his wife.

The masked figure twisted their head to look at him, and Harry experienced a moment of trepidation until they finally responded, "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

He exhaled in relief. "Thank, Merlin. For a second there I thought you might have been Bellatrix."

There was a sneer coming all the way from the other side of the row of bodies, the source undoubtedly being the only other female in their group.

"Oh, don't be like that. You can have my place if you want." he said amiably, gesturing towards Voldemort, whose remaining patience, he could tell, was very close to snapping.

Scoffing to show just how little he cared, he turned back to Mrs. Malfoy. "Do you mind if I come with you?"

The woman seemed to consider for a moment, before a black robed arm was extended out to him. "Not at all, Mr. Potter."

"Cissy!" Bellatrix hissed, the sound both warning and vicious.

"Hush, Bella." her sister rebuked admonishingly, "We are all heading in the same location, after all. That is, if our Lord is in agreement?"

"So kind of you to take my opinion into consideration, Narcissa." the Dark Lord said menacingly, and nearly at the same time, too fast for it to be a mere coincidence, the entire Inner Circle winced, a pained grunt escaping some as they clutched their arm, the very same one Harry knew the Dark Mark to be located.

He tried to squash the guilt that surged through him, really, he did. After all, these people were a bunch of murderers and convicts; they deserved any sort of punishment.

However, the longer they bit their lips and held onto their inflamed arms, the more breathless Harry became.

"Hey, cut it out!" he yelled, taking a step closer to the Dark Lord despite his better judgment. "Is this how you treat your most devoted followers? How you repay them for their years of servitude?"

Crimson eyes flashed dangerously, a sign Harry had come to decipher as too ominous and hazardous for his health.

"Do not interfere in my disciplinary methods, Potter." was the growled reply, and much to his astonishment, Harry actually found himself taking a hasty step backwards.

Did…did he say…Potter…?

Voldemort's expression hardened the longer he gazed upon him. "Begone from my sight." he said lowly, "And you better not disappoint me, or I can promise you a punishment you shan't ever forget, for the rest of your unsightly, meager existence."

Harry's eyes grew wide.

Shit…he really was pissed.

"Mr. Potter?" Narcissa urged, and with no further ado, he took hold of her arm, immediately feeling the squeezing feeling behind his navel that accompanied Apparition.

Normally, he'd have dreaded the moment it was bound to come, but now, he simply welcomed it with open arms, eager to get out of that place.

***)&(***

For a small, disoriented moment, Harry thought he was going to be seriously sick.

Plastering a hand over his mouth to keep it tightly shut, the teen closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe steadily through the nose. Nice, deep, calming breaths. His stomach twisted and grumbled in protest, quite possibly worse than the previous time Side-Along Apparition was used on him.

Once he was certain no vomit was going to come out the very instant he opened his mouth to speak, only then did Harry remove his hand, and took his first look at his surroundings.

…Not that there was actually much to see; everything was bathed in total darkness.

Frowning, he turned towards the only source of light, up ahead, and recognition, along with a heavy dose of deep seeded nostalgia took over his senses.

Diagon Alley was only a little ways ahead.

Which probably meant he currently was in Knockturn Alley.

Brilliant. The last thing he needed right now was to be randomly attacked by some shady wizard.

Speaking of which…not trusting his eyes in this dark place, because as wondrous as his new sight might have been, there were still things the bare eye couldn't pick out, Harry felt with the link, searching for Voldemort's unmistakable presence in the near vicinity. He highly doubted he had been given free rein, like in the Ministry, where the Dark Lord had allowed him to go unsupervised, escorts aside.

Well, Draco had actually been there to ensure Harry had no means of escape, due to the enchantment that had been keeping them together at the time, but that was beside the –

Ah.

Harry's train of thought came to a staggering halt, suspicions now confirmed.

Voldemort was close, that much he could tell, though how close exactly, that little fact eluded him. Wherever the Dark Lord was however, his elite were bound to be lurking somewhere nearby.

Now Harry was at a complete loss.

What was he supposed to do? Go up to any people he happened to walk by and declare his predetermined allegiance so that they could go blabber on to the press?

His face scrunched up, having trouble seeing the fruition of a plan like that.

Then, he really bothered to look at the crowded Diagon and all color seemed to drain from his face.

Throughout the expected amount of witches and wizards out shopping, woven like a poisonous and deadly ivy, was a cluster of people dressed smartly in formal robes, wielding cameras and sporting rolls of parchments along with quills, some of them floating and twitching in jittery anticipation this way and that, while others were held in firm grips, as if they were their greatest and most valuable weapons.

It would seem the Dark Lord had already gone to great measures to ensure there was no way out of this for Harry.

Still, he could have, at the very least, hinted that he was planning on holding a frigging press conference. Since Harry was, apparently, the scheduled one to be interviewed, didn't he have a right to know? Prepare himself for the upcoming migraine he was bound to receive?

One would think after years of being in the Wizarding world's spotlight, he'd have gotten used to it by now, right?

Turns out, he really hadn't.

With a long suffering sigh and a pat of his owl's feathery head, Harry adjusted his expression into something suitable for his role, then steeled himself and walked out of the shadows of Knockturn.

There was no comparison between Diagon Alley's natural brightness and the magical induced one of the cameras; it was a match the reporters easily won. They were on him like vultures – preying birds that wanted nothing more than to devour him, bones and all – and firing one stupid question after the other.

"You're alive?"

"Mr. Potter, you were gone!"

"What happened to you?"

"Do the clothes you're wearing hold any significant meaning?"

"Mr. Potter, smile here!"

Green eyes, narrowed and ablaze, sought out the person that had made that particular request, and all noise came to an abrupt halt, the cameras no longer going off and blinding him with their light. He stared at them, looked at each and every one of them, allowing just a hint of his mounting annoyance to show, and they promptly stiffened.

At least they were quiet now…

"Yes," he said at last, keeping his voice steady and clear, "as you can see, I'm still very much alive, and thank you for the trouble you went through to come here and confirm it with your own eyes."

Most reporters shared bewildered looks between themselves, while some others stared at him with unconcealed puzzlement.

"Mr. Potter," a woman ventured hesitantly, and he nodded curtly to let her know she could continue, "it is well to know you aren't dead, as we had presumed, but I believe I speak for all of us when I say we're curious as to what happened to you."

Her colleagues nodded fervently in signs of agreement.

"The night Albus Dumbledore died," he began, and he could see everyone straining to hear every word that spilled from his mouth, "I was taken into the custody of the Dark Lord."

Instantly, murmurs erupted all over the place, the passerby people that had loitered around after spotting him, were now covering their mouths in fright, some even pity.

Involuntarily, he ended up glowering.

He didn't want anyone's pity, had no need of it.

"The reason I've come before you today," he went on, "is to inform you of a crucial detail you seem to have neglected, or perhaps, purposely ignored."

If Voldemort complained again about his choice of words during his task, he was going to throttle him. It might not have any long lasting results, but it certainly would alleviate Harry's frustrations.

"You're fighting for a lost cause." he announced plainly, and had to wait for the onslaught of noise to quiet down before he elaborated. "My advice is this, and I do hope you heed it; give up before it's too late…while you still can."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" a male reporter yelled, face furious.

"Mr. Potter, should we take that statement for what it is?" another man asked, his tone calmer than the other one but the creasing between his brows betrayed the sentiment he hadn't voiced.

Playing dumb on purpose, Harry questioned pleasantly, "For the helpful advice it was posed as?"

The man openly scowled. "Mr. Potter, I believe this is no time to be playing games." He paused then, gesturing around the Alley. "Our society as we know it is at war. People fear leaving their homes for more time than they absolutely have to."

At his words, many of the onlookers hung their heads, as though ashamed to admit they were included in that category.

Harry's gaze traveled to the rest of Diagon Alley, noting that it really wasn't as full as its usual standards demanded. Not that he blamed them. They had lived in the fear of Voldemort's shadow before, they were prepared for anything.

"With Dumbledore gone," the reporter continued, and Harry could foresee what he was going to say next before he even did, "you were our only hope, Mr. Potter. You're The-Boy-Who-Lived."

How many times had he heard that?

How many times had he stood and listened to the expectancies the world had of him?

Seen them worship him like a hero one moment and then accuse him as a liar the next?

Disown him and throw him aside like a broken puppet, only to pick him up again when they were in need of a Savior?

Unfortunately for them, for everyone, the decision was taken from him; much like the rest of his life was already planned out, without his consent.

He was stuck where he was, and he needed to make them see it.

He couldn't be their Golden Boy anymore.

"Yes," he answered to the man's declaration, "and I want to remain that way. Alive, I mean." he hastened to add upon spotting the several perplexed frowns that stared back at him.

He took a step forward before anyone could speak up, expression grave. "You see, the Dark Lord is powerful, perhaps more powerful than you could ever imagine."

The first signs of unease made their appearance, the crowd fidgeting nervously.

He realized this was the last thing they wanted to hear at the moment, given the situation, but it was the reason he was here. If only he could persuade them, change the minds of only a few, then in turn, they might plant the seeds of doubt in the minds of their friends and families, even their neighbors perhaps.

This was the only thing he could do, the only way he could aid them.

He didn't care if he was hated again, didn't even mind if they called him a Dark Lord in the making once more.

If only he could help some people survive this with their lives intact, he'd be grateful.

"I've seen him achieve things no other man ever did, perform magic stronger than anyone could hope for." Perhaps he couldn't outright tell them about the Hallows, but this was the closest there was to it. "He cannot be defeated, I can assure you of that."

"Surely there's something you can do?" a woman questioned, her tone imploring, and Harry couldn't help but smile ruefully at her.

Parchments and quills long abandoned as the news he brought unraveled more, a couple of reporters buried their faces in their hands, his expression speaking louder than words.

"You were given a chance; do not waste it." he told them carefully, "The only one who can help you now is you."

"What about yourself, Mr. Potter?" someone in the far back asked, a man from the sound of it, "Who's going to help you?"

Harry resisted the urge to frown. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well," the reporter maneuvered through the numerous bodies to come closer, "I can hardly find it believable that you remain with You-Know-Who out of your own free will."

A woman came to stand beside the man, face pinched. "The Harry Potter we know would never do such a thing."

The nerve of these people…

"Then you don't know me as well as you think." he gritted out, striving to keep his temper in check. He couldn't even start to describe how preposterous he found the claim that a couple of reporters knew the real him.

The man gave him an indulgent half smile, like he was finding Harry's words amusing, if anything.

"We beg to differ," He took out his wand with slow, deliberate movements, providing the teen with plenty of time for his body to tense, ready to spring if necessary. His wand was kept away from him still, and he didn't know whether Voldemort had stationed some of his men in close range at the prospect of retaliation. The man, however, swept his wand in a circular arc high above his head while murmuring the incantation, giving Harry pause. If he had directed it at himself, then it certainly couldn't have been offensive magic, right?

Right before his eyes, the image of the reporter shifted, changing and molding until he and several others around him had been transformed into something entirely different than what he had been seeing only a second ago.

And just like that, the persona he was supposed to uphold, the cold demeanor that had been clinging to the Dark Prince like a second skin, simply fell away, nonexistent and forsaken along with the reporters and cameras.

Harry Potter stood in his place, transparent for all to see.

The first time he tried to speak, his voice promptly failed him, only an intelligible, guttural sound leaving his throat.

The second time around, it came out as nothing but a mere whisper of breath, "What're you doing here?"

It mustn't have reached them at all, because Ron and Hermione's faces, no longer glamored and unrecognizable, twisted into twin expressions of familiar worry that only achieved to lit an all consuming sense of panic within Harry the instant he saw them.

"You shouldn't be here," he hissed through the dread, angry that they were stupid enough to come to a place like this, _at a moment like this._

"Harry," Remus shouldered past his friends, looking just as worried, and the teen couldn't possibly fathom how on earth he hadn't recognized his voice before, "we must go." Brown eyes flickered around, twitchy and on edge. "Come, it's not safe."

'_I know!' _he wanted to scream, feeling Voldemort's presence becoming more prominent by the second.

He shook his head, wild emeralds lingering to every shadowy corner in the alley in an attempt to discern any shapes or forms and finding nothing, even though he knew they were there, quite possibly watching everything. "Go," he muttered quietly, still not giving up on his search, futile as it might was, "Get away from here."

"No, Harry." returned Remus, impassioned enough for the teen to jerk his head towards him in surprise. "You're coming with us." he said fiercely, gaze resolute and beside him, Ron and Hermione nodded in mutual agreement.

Harry's head was spinning.

Why were they being so difficult? Couldn't they see the danger they were in?

This very place was infested with Dark wizards, an entire army of them.

"Potter," another voice intoned, so gruff that his name came out like a growl. Remus made way for Mad-Eye, the older wizard's walking stick producing awful screechy sounds on the tiled ground of the alley as he stepped forward. "Pick up your feet. We need to move now."

"Yes!" Harry yelled, thankful there was someone sensible amongst them. "You _really _need to go, like, right this –"

Fingers clamped around the back of his neck, so long that they encased nearly his entire throat within them. The hold wasn't firm or anything, it was simply there, and yet Harry's stomach turned into lead, every single muscle seizing up.

"Unfortunately," Voldemort's voice drawled from behind him, "your time has just run out."

Both Remus and Moody's gazes snapped to the man, having enough sense to draw the two teens behind their backs. "Harry?" Remus questioned cautiously, assessing eyes not wavering from unfamiliar features, visibly sharpening once they settled on the grip he had on the boy. "Who's this?"

But Harry couldn't listen past the loudness of his own pulse, the frenzied tempo driving him to very brink of anxiety.

"Tom," he said softly, fingers twitching uselessly by his sides, "just let them walk away, alright? No harm's done, I'm still right here."

Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth just in time to cover most of the shout that had left her lips. She sidestepped Remus, wide almond eyes trained on Voldemort's face. "Tom?" she repeated faintly, face pale. She stared as though transfixed, unable to pull away even when she looked right into crimson orbs. "As in T-Tom Riddle?"

Beside her, Ron blanched, hand shooting out to steady the witch when she wavered dangerously where she stood.

Mad-Eye was openly scowling, Remus' expression mirroring his when he turned partially to Hermione, never fully leaving Harry and his companion out of sight. "Who's that? Hermione?" he prodded when there was no answer. "Hermione, who's Tom Riddle?"

The girl didn't reply, only pursed her lips into a tight, thin line.

"Didn't Dumbledore ever tell you?" Ron murmured.

"Tell us what, son?" Moody urged impatiently, magical eye spinning restlessly in its socket.

Ron dragged his eyes away from the imposing figure slowly, painfully even. He looked only at Remus when he said, "That's him, his real name." A moaning little sound left his throat, like the admission itself caused him terrible suffering. "You-Know-Who." he ended up whispering, nearly choking up at the last word, and both adults seemed to freeze on the spot.

The reporters and photographers on the other hand, appeared to finally snap out of their daze, shrieks and shouts punctuating the air in a matter of seconds, turning and bolting as far away as they could, some even dropping everything they were holding in their haste.

"Confiscate the cameras." The Dark Lord commanded curtly. "Don't let them escape." Black figures rushed out of Knockturn and past their Master, quick on their feet and eager to obey.

Harry found himself strangely detached from the whole thing.

It was weird.

He used to admonish his friends because they couldn't utter the name Voldemort without stuttering like complete simpletons. He'd always find it ridiculous, especially after his second year, when he learnt the wizard's real name.

Why would someone fear a name that was only an alias?

They had never understood the easiness with which the name Voldemort rolled off his tongue like he was talking about common folk.

At that moment, Harry was able to figure out why.

He had placed his friends in many life threatening situations before, they had even fought against the Inner Circle for him, him and a little glowing globe he had absolutely refused to hand over. So loyal they were, and Harry so proud for the courage they showed and the privilege he had of calling them his closest friends.

Never before however, had they been with him when he faced the Dark Lord himself, year after agonizing year.

Last year, when he was brought to the Order's headquarters, he had even yelled at them, frustrated and angry and so betrayed that they had agreed with Dumbledore to keep all that from him when he was the one that had battled Voldemort, alone and unaided, _again._

Looking back to it now, Harry only wished he could take everything back.

He had never wanted them to even meet the Dark Lord, could feel his breath catching in his throat at all the possible, disastrous scenarios a predicament like this one could turn into.

"Tom," he whispered, turning his head to fully look at the man, "they're my friends."

Red eyes bore into him, unblinking in their perusal, and Harry didn't dare break the contact. He knew Voldemort knew, had seen it in his memories just how important these people were to him.

He…he'd even resort to begging if it spared them.

The corners of the Dark wizard's mouth twisted suddenly, curling downwards into a displeased sneer that granted his features a feral, dangerous look.

"No," the man said lowly, hot breath fanning against Harry's neck in a way similar to the drawing room, back in the Death Eaters' headquarters. The resemblance was so eerie, right down to the dark undertone in his voice, that Harry felt a copious dose of déjà-vu hit him full force. "They are your one major weakness, and what do I do with your flaws, my treasure?"

For a second there, Harry actually forgot how to inhale properly.

…His eyesight, his dependence on his wand…

He had perfectly functional, hawk vision now, and even though it was difficult, he could also trigger his wandless magic if he wanted.

Moist, warm lips traced the shell of his ear, "I extinguish them."

Defiance and fury, both blazing hot, raced through Harry's veins, having put two and two together. Grabbing Voldemort's hand, he pulled out of his hold, snarling as he stepped away.

"You planned this out, didn't you?!"

He couldn't believe it! How stupid was he?!

"From the very start," Harry gritted out, shaking all over, "you knew they'd show up, didn't you? You used me as your fucking bait to make sure they did!"

How could he?! Those were his friends and Voldemort used him to lure them out!

The fucking nerve of him!

How…?!

"How could you?!" he screamed, as if his thoughts weren't shouting it loud and clear. "Damn it, that's low even for you!"

He couldn't think straight anymore. The red haze that seemed to have descended over his vision was clouding his mind, to the point he could barely see past the rage and absolute betrayal that was choking him, because even though he didn't want to admit it, because it pained him to admit it, he had grown closer to the man, and in his naivety he had seriously thought Voldemort wouldn't hurt him like this.

…To use _him, _so that he could _kill _his friends.

Damn it…it really hurt.

He clutched his head, staggering backwards, and nearly bit at the hands that gripped him by the forearms. "No! Don't you dare touch me, you bastard!"

"Harry!" Someone called out urgently, pulling him struggling and fighting close to a firm chest, only serving to turn the teen's movements all the more aggressive. "Shh, Harry, it's alright! Harry, please look at me!"

It was that one word, so simple and yet one he knew would never fall from Voldemort's lips, that made him pause and really look. The relief he felt when he was met with warm, chocolate eyes was probably clear as day on his face, but he couldn't help it. How long had he wanted to see them, any of them, while he was kept in that cellar, with no one allowed to keep him company but Voldemort himself.

So he just threw his arms around the man and did the one thing he couldn't have done when he first saw him; hugged him like he was his lifeline. And perhaps he was, Remus and his friends as well; his anchor to sanity.

"Remus," he breathed, and strong arms didn't hesitate for even a second before they wrapped around him, embracing him just as fiercely.

"We've got you now." the werewolf murmured like a mantra into his hair, "We've got you, it's alright."

"How very sweet."

Harry drew back instinctively, frowning to himself.

Great, his body had apparently learnt to respond to whatever mood Voldemort was in.

How freaking amazing.

Hands, clammy and sweaty, grabbed his to gently steer him in the rear and he squeezed them back once he felt their quivers, trying to offer the comfort they all needed to the best of his abilities. There was the sound of flapping wings and Harry's head sprang upwards, spotting his owl approaching with sure beats, for a moment wondering when she had left. "Stay there!" he shouted so she could hear him and snowy bird stopped in midair, hovering anxiously above him. "Go, Hedwig! And keep to the skies, don't land anywhere near here!"

She screeched loudly in protest, huge golden orbs boring into his face, but then feathery wings flapped once, twice, and soon his owl was nothing but a white speck in the blue sky.

Relieved now that she was safe, he glanced at the two teens by his side, "Why are you so few?"

"We couldn't risk more people." Hermione replied in the same hushed tones. "We got this leak yesterday evening, that Harry Potter was going to be interviewed in Diagon Alley. It was clearly a trap –"

"It was." Harry cut her off sharply, and she snapped her mouth shut. "You shouldn't have come if you knew."

On his right, Ron frowned, grip tightening over his hand if only briefly. "Like hell we shouldn't."

"We had to," Hermione's eyes flickered over to him, "If there was a chance, no matter how slight, that the rumor was true…"

Harry could see where they were coming from, he'd have done the same.

"Still stupid." he insisted regardless, because it didn't change the fact they currently had one big mess to deal with. And their biggest problem was looking right at them, narrowed scarlet orbs jerking from their joined hands to Harry's face – and even though the teen was downright furious with the Dark Lord who, after everything he had done, had absolutely no right to get mad – he still faltered under that hard stare, dreading the consequences it'd bring to his friends.

Dignity being discarded aside, Harry relented and carefully, so that the man could trace his motions, he let go of their hands.

He almost flinched at the questioning looks they shot him, simply because he had no solid answer to give. In the end, he opted for a vague, "Don't want to provoke him." Hermione's brow creased together in confusion, but Harry only shook his head. "Don't ask."

Most likely recognizing the imploring tone, the witch left it at that.

Harry turned back to Voldemort, glaring when he spotted that infuriating smirk on his face before the man tipped his head just lightly over his shoulder. "Do as instructed."

He might as well have ordered open fire.

Masses upon masses of black robed figures trickled out of Knockturn Alley, bringing down the Disillusionment Charms that had been merging them with the shadows and running at top speed into Diagon, cloaks flying wildly around their forms and announcing their owners' passage with the sounds they produced.

Adults and teens alike stiffened in preparation, but the Death Eaters sprinted past, bypassing them like they were actual boulders and not enemies.

Remus and Mad-Eye's arms, which had flung to encircle the three of them protectively, were tentatively lowered back to their sides, only their tensed shoulders portraying their suspicion about the Death Eaters' motives.

Only a handful remained back, approaching with leisure steps.

They didn't stick by Voldemort's side, but rather walked past him and over to their small group, stopping only once they had formed a perfectly square circle around them, with the Dark Lord at the very head, overlooking them all. Harry had a feeling he knew exactly who these people were.

They fell into place, and not a moment later, terror filled screams echoed from far away, where the Alley was usually buzzing with commotion.

Harry didn't even want to look, aware he'd only be faced with more death and destruction.

A sharp, high pitched yell rang out, more tortured than the rest, and Hermione's eyes widened, the only thing keeping her from looking back being Harry's gentle touch on her shoulder. He felt her deflate under his hand, and she offered a shaky nod to show she understood.

His attention quickly snapped to the front when Voldemort made a single step forward, an easy, almost lazy smirk playing at the Dark wizard's lips. "Thought I would make it more personal, as it has always been. After all," he paused to gesture shortly in the older wizards' direction, "we are graced with the presence of Dumbledore's domesticated werewolf and guard dog."

Red eyes abruptly shifted, focusing now solely on his friends, who visibly cringed upon sighting the slit-like pupils within the vivid irises.

"And of course," It was apparent on his face just how much he enjoyed the effect he seemed to have on them, "the rest of the Golden Trio. Now Lupin," he switched targets again, "kindly return what you stole."

"Stole?" Remus echoed, voice dripping with barely restrained rage, "You _stole_ him first."

Voldemort's face hardened. "On the contrary, I merely retrieved what has always belonged to me." His eyes suddenly glinted with some unhinged, wicked sort of pleasure. "Or did you forget? I marked him as mine the night I killed your friends."

The pallor of Remus' skin worsened, becoming sicklier if possible.

Then, his teeth grinded together, jaws clenching so tight that it was bound to hurt. "You can't have him." the werewolf growled with enough vitriol to catch even Harry off guard, never having thought the usually calm and placid man capable of such sentiment. Before Harry could so much as blink, Remus' wand arm thrust forward, the no doubt lethal spell he fired at the Dark Lord being disregarded by a single, casual wave of the man's skeletal wand.

Everything came to a standstill.

Harry wanted to bury his face in his hands. Attacking the Dark Lord head on was plain stupid on a normal day. With his elite only a breath away, and taking into consideration the tiny, little fact that harmful spells no longer worked on him? That spelled suicide.

Voldemort and Remus stared at one another, both bearing identical looks of flat out loathing, before the Dark Lord spoke, not once averting his attention. "Annihilate them."

"Granger! Weasley!" Mad-Eye yelled, and his friends erected shields in the nick of time to deflect the dozen spells that rained upon them.

"Don't bother with Voldemort!" Harry shouted above all the noise, grasping Remus' arm when the man made to attack the Dark Lord again. "You're wasting your time! Lethal Curses won't even work on him!"

"No man is so powerful!" Remus tried to dislodge his grip, but Harry held on fast.

"He is!" Harry shouted with conviction, causing Remus to pause and look at him. "Trust me, he's invincible, literally speaking."

The werewolf's face contorted, gaze seeking out Moody's. "Defense level 10?"

Mad-Eye glowered, "If it's all we can bloody well do. The both of you, as practiced!"

His friends nodded gravely, and Harry blinked when they all lifted their free hands, holding them aloft and adjacent to their wand arms, murmuring the same incantations.

"_Fianto Duri."_

"_Protego Maxima."_

"_Repello Inimicum."_

They cast the charms consecutively over and over, and once they were satisfied they moved on to other enchantments, movements so strangely in synch, not losing a single beat.

A diagonal slash through the air, _"Salvio Hexia."_

"_Protego Horribilis." _followed by a skyward pointing of the wand tips.

"_Protego Totalum. Muffliato." _Wand arms were waved in slow, calculated square motions above their heads. They fell quiet after that, only the sound of their ragged, panting gasps filling the air, much too silent now that the screams and chaos were blocked outside of the shimmering blue dome that had formed around them.

Harry could only stare in muted awe, recognizing complex and powerful magic when he was staring right at it.

"Wow," was all that he could mutter upon catching the eyes of his friends, genuinely impressed they had played a part in pulling that off. Remus and Moody he could understand; one was a former Auror, and the other a former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, fully trained wizards. Ron and Hermione though…? He always knew his friends were brilliant, but this was something else.

"Just…wow," he grinned widely, the other two returning the gesture bashfully.

"Yeah, don't get too used to it." Ron leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "Worked my ass off to learn all that in one night." Harry snorted out a laugh, biting his lip when Hermione punched the redhead in the shoulder, the latter holding his hands up defensively but smiling still.

"Children!" Mad-Eye barked suddenly, effectively causing them to start.

Right, of course. Not the time for goofing around.

But he had missed their interactions, more than he could possibly describe.

Harry's eyes swiveled to Remus, noting the worry lines being sculpted deeper and deeper into his face the longer he stared up at the glowing bubble they had created. Harry followed his line of sight and had to do a double take. The Inner Circle were focusing all their spells on that one spot, and the teen really didn't want to know what sort of Curses they were using to make the shield smoke like that, the pale blue morphing into bright red as though it was burning.

"Can't we just Apparate?"

Remus shook his head, not taking his eyes off the shield. "I tried that the instant I had you in my arms. Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards have already fallen into place. The portkeys we brought have all been rendered useless."

He shared an anxious look with Ron and Hermione.

"What do we do then?" the redhead asked, risking furtive glances at the Death Eaters surrounding them. There was something eerie about seeing your enemies, knowing they were using the darkest offensive magic they had knowledge of, and yet being unable to hear them in the slightest.

It put Harry on edge, and from the fidgeting of his friends, he had a hunch the sentiment was mutual.

Remus tore his attention away from the dome. "Harry, I need to know. How fast can Voldemort bring this down?"

Harry didn't hear anything past that name, feeling his admiration for Remus shoot higher after the man mentioned it as carelessly as Dumbledore would have. The werewolf called out his name again, and the teen forced himself to switch gears, craning his neck to catch sight of the Dark Lord idly twirling his wand, gaze more attentive than his posture let on.

"Too fast," was all he could come up with in the end. "But I wouldn't worry. He's going to let his minions handle this while he enjoys the show."

Remus didn't seem impressed with that possibility. "Be that as it may, I don't know how long the enchantments will hold under such assault. These are his Inner Circle, correct?"

"How could you tell?" It's not like they were dressed any different than the rest.

"I scent Severus amongst them." Remus smiled crookedly at his dumbfounded expression. "The full moon is just around the corner."

Enhanced senses, right.

For a moment there he had thought Remus had lost his mind.

"For now, we enforce the enchantments should they be breached." Moody muttered darkly, magical eye trained on the smoking place in the dome, "And pray the Dark Lord doesn't tire of this charade and decides to take matters into his oh, so capable hands."

Cold sweat was starting to gather on the back of Harry's neck, and he rubbed the spot just to have something to do. "Isn't there a way to break the wards?"

"The art of Curse Breaking is a very delicate one, Harry." Remus replied, "It takes years to master, and not all are suited for it."

"At least, none that are present." Moody finished, appraising the three teens.

"How's that our fault?" Ron shot back, insulted.

"Ron, he didn't mean anything by it. Can we all please calm down?" Hermione, the ever present voice of reason. In any case, Harry was grateful for the intervention.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Hermione's right. The point is, Voldemort and his henchmen have cut this place off; no one gets in and no one gets out. A trained Curse Breaker would have been our only choice, and since Bill isn't here, we can rule it out."

All of their faces fell, as though it dawned simultaneously on them that they were basically stuck.

Something else was nagging at Harry's mind, and he gave it room for consideration. "Would brute force work?"

That earned him all kinds of strange looks, but it was Remus who asked, "What do you mean?"

Mean? He himself didn't really know what he meant, or better yet, how to put it into words that actually made sense. "Like, shooting straight at the wards?" he ended lamely and promptly cringed at how stupid that sounded.

"Attacking with random spells isn't going to do the trick." Moody said gruffly, irritably. "It requires specific incantations only a Curse Breaker would know."

"No, no." Harry shook his head, struggling to phrase himself. "I mean, what if we were to blast through it? No incantations."

"Harry," Hermione mumbled, "you're not making any sense."

Emerald orbs however, shot ahead, catching the abrupt halt of Voldemort's wand.

Wait…he had almost forgotten the Dark Lord had insight to his thoughts.

A grin crept over his features slowly, Voldemort's scathing look all the answer he needed. "You might want to enforce those enchantments, after all. Voldemort's going to jump start this whole process." His jovial mood shouldn't even have any place in this situation, the panic that descended over the others undeniably more suited.

"Stall for as long as you can. Merlin knows I'm gonna need all the time you can give me." he muttered that last part to himself, low enough so it wouldn't be heard.

"What are you going to do?" Remus appeared as anxious as he sounded.

"Why," Harry smiled toothily, "show his Lordness' just how badly his work can backfire."

Remus wasn't particularly reassured, he could tell, but Harry didn't have the luxury of idle chatting. He turned the other way, squinting upwards at the dome. If his plan worked, it was quite possible the shield would shatter at exactly the same moment that the wards did.

The only problem was, well, he wasn't really certain he could make this work. As hard as it was to stomach, the Horcrux was more capable in triggering Harry's wandless magic than Harry himself was. And there was no way he'd risk giving the Horcrux free reign at the moment. For all he knew, the dome would become his friends' torture chamber if that were to happen.

Not like he had any other choice, really.

It was testing his power right there and then, or waiting like sitting ducks for Voldemort to break through the shield, and given the spiking of his scar, he didn't think anyone would be spared.

So he closed his eyes and started the procedure that had been drilled into him.

The soft murmurs of the enchantments being recast was actually aiding his concentration, the others' combined, lulling voices making it easier for him to ignore all thoughts other than those portraying to his magic. To his astonishment, the familiar thrum, that second pulse he had become so intimately acquainted with, came sooner than he expected.

He allowed himself only a moment to bathe in its warm sensation, feeling exhilarated each and every time he experienced it. He called it closer to the surface, and his magic responded gladly, eagerly, like they were reuniting after a very long time.

That's why he didn't want the Horcrux accessing his core. This magic felt so pure, like something that was supposed to remain unstained and untainted by the miasma that was the black shard.

It was amazing.

As though sensing his bitterness, his magic spread throughout his body like a balm, wishing to cleanse all negativity away.

He embraced it for what felt like a second, if even that, before he was stumbling backwards from the pain that assaulted his head. He collided with someone, hands grasping him in an effort to steady and compose him, but Harry couldn't speak to reassure them, if he did, there was no doubt he'd have screamed.

He grasped his head, eyes shutting of their own volition.

There was an explosion somewhere nearby, eyelids snapping open in surprise, and the first black clad person his gaze unwittingly landed on, was sent flying violently backwards. The body crashed against the brick wall, boneless and limp once it fell on the ground and through the dizzying pain, Harry realized it was his fault. The magic wasn't beneath his skin anymore, he had brought it to the surface but hadn't been given the time to get it under control.

The hands from before returned, squeezing him worriedly, but Harry shrugged them off with more force than necessary. He didn't want anyone too close when he was feeling like a time bomb.

He closed his eyes tightly, not willing to have a repeat of the incident from before.

His scar was searing, blazing and scorching, and it had been such a long time since Voldemort had felt the need to use it, that Harry had forgotten how agonizing and torturous it could be.

He tried valiantly to get a firm grip on his magic, to redirect it only where he needed it, but he couldn't shake off the nausea long enough to succeed. The Horcrux could feel Voldemort's anger like it were its own still, and jumped at the opportunity to cause him additional suffering, especially now that Voldemort himself was displeased with him.

Between withstanding the Dark Lord's merciless assault from the other side of the link, fending off the shard's relentless efforts to take over now that he was mentally and physically compromised to keep it restrained, and keeping his haywire magic from lashing out and strike everything and anything in its path, Harry was having trouble with inhaling enough oxygen for his brain to continue functioning.

Someone was yelling in his ear, rattling Harry's oversensitive nerves and nearly leaving him deaf, the ringing his ear was now sporting adding to all the rest and making his knees buckle.

If a strong hand hadn't wrapped around his bicep in time, he was sure he'd have passed out from the collision with the ground.

"'M fine," he managed to force out with way too much effort for his liking. "iel- shield…"

Harry shrugged out of their hold, unable to open his eyes and confirm whether they had listened and went back to reinforcing the enchantments but certainly hoping they did.

Damn, Voldemort was going all out this time. None of the other times had felt like this.

The teen righted himself as much as he could and withdrew his hand, realizing that holding his head didn't mean he was also keeping the pain at bay.

By all means, he knew he should have passed out already.

Perhaps it was his magic keeping him awake, so erratic now that it acted like a second battery fueling his system, or maybe it was the overall situation and the fact that if he fainted now it'd be the end of them all. Whatever the case, Harry wasn't about to waste any chances. So, gritting his teeth and balling his gloved hands as firmly as he was capable of at the moment, he set about doing what he had meant to right from the start.

He focused on his magic, told himself that nothing else mattered.

Underneath all that pain, he could still sense it feebly, the empowering sensation of his magic, strong and ever-present but dulled and detached due to the haze that had fogged over his senses.

'_No, no, come on…' _he thought fervently, _'Don't do this when I need you.'_

The Horcrux pounded against its containment, fighting to claw its way out, and Harry cried out when it made his head feel like it was going to combust on the spot. He shoved it back with force and panic, and effort all combined into one dreadful package, because if he faltered now and the Horcrux came out, it was going to not only bring down the shield, but also kill Remus and the others before Voldemort even had the chance to do it himself.

And with Harry's own hands. It'd use his body without any inhibitions, just like it had done with Bellatrix, and just like the Dark Lord had done today.

Yes, in the end, they truly were parts of the same soul.

But that didn't mean Harry was just going to roll over and take it, consequences be damned.

Without proper concentration, he couldn't put a real damper on the Horcrux's struggles, but compared to before, its attempts now felt like a blissful reprieve, one that Harry welcomed with open arms. With renewed vigor, he threw himself into reining in his magic, summoning it so that it clang to him only, not letting it leak outside and his magic listened. Slow enough that he felt it, it gathered back, following the invisible threads that always connected it to his core.

The thrumming was now calm rather than the twitchy and turbulent mess it was before. Harry took that as a sign to continue.

Much like the meadow, he knew what he wanted, needed his magic to do, and it was much simpler than creating life out of nothing.

'_I need them to be safe. Please, we have to get away.'_

Voldemort's retaliation to that particular notion was blinding.

White lights flashed behind Harry's closed eyelids, mind short-circuiting momentarily from the thunderous pain. He didn't let go of his magic through it all, knew that if he did, there was no possible way for him to regain hold of it. The Dark Lord wouldn't let it happen.

'_No!' _he seethed, all too aware that Voldemort was listening in, wanting him to. _'I won't let you! You hear me? As if I'd ever allow you to kill them!'_

His scar was pounding a vicious tempo inside his head, never ending, never letting up, and this time only Voldemort's doing. It was making it hard for him to think. Biting back a groan, Harry let the onslaught hit him full force in favor of channeling all of his remaining strength into his magic.

This was it; he had no more chances for it to work.

He opened his eyes, blinking in rapid succession in order to get used to the brightness before searching for Remus and the others. And he found them, a little worse for wear, with sweat beading on their temples and still muttering incantations, but still intact.

"Try to stay upright." he told them in warning, ignoring the questions in their eyes and taking a single, long breath.

He fed all thoughts to his magic, showed it what he desired and _willed_ it to answer, knowing that it would; it wanted to be of help.

Harry felt it leaving his body along with the breath he had drawn, and he crouched low, slamming his splayed out hands downwards. He didn't need to wait long, the effect was immediate. His magic surged through him with lightning speed, traversing from his outstretched fingers into the very ground and then on to everything else in contact with it. The Death Eaters were all blasted backwards, colliding with the nearest hard surface, pained grunts echoing from all around.

Besides their little group, only the Dark Lord was left standing, but the magical wave wasn't finished.

A faint glimmer of blue covered every building, enveloping them from top to bottom before shooting upwards towards the sky. There was a moment of absolute quiet, and then, the entire Alley flooded with sounds akin to shattering glass nearly at the same time that the dome flickered away, vanishing like it had never been there.

Afterwards, Harry was falling, legs turning to mush beneath him and eyes rolling back inside their sockets in retribution for his body's endurance.

Arms caught him on the way down, encasing his middle and lifting him back on his feet. They didn't retreat though, staying locked in place and cradling him carefully, gently, like he was something to be cherished.

"Oh, Harry." came the soft murmur into the crown of his hair, and Harry mustered enough energy to give a weak smile.

Remus fawned over him while holding him close, his grip border lining on painful, but still Harry couldn't bring himself to tell him to let go. He had a feeling they both needed the comfort. "Your parents and Sirius would have been so proud of you, _so, so proud._"

The teen didn't know what to say to that.

In the past few days, there had been many times he had thought they'd be ashamed if they were still alive and could see the person he had become. Hearing Remus say that…a huge weight was lifted, one that he felt like he had been shouldering for quite some time.

There was a rushing sound, almost like a sudden gush of wind, and something warm splashed against Harry's cheek.

The arms disappeared, causing Harry to stumble on trembling legs without the extra support to hold him up. Emerald eyes fell to the ground, staring uncomprehendingly at the dark, crimson blood that oozed from the diagonal wound on Remus' torso. Was that actually…? No, it couldn't possibly be. If the slash was deep enough to expose part of his ribcage, chances were that Remus was already…

His gaze traveled to the side, where Hermione appeared to be yelling something at Moody who was shouting right back. There were tear tracks on her face, and even Ron was flustered, arms flailing as he gestured wildly around. Oh, he seemed to be speaking too.

Strange, his mouth was moving but Harry couldn't hear a sound.

When he glanced over his shoulder to find Voldemort with his wand arm still poised, it was like everything began falling into place.

He turned back to the others, seeing and finally registering the deathly pale color of Remus' skin. The blood hadn't stopped coming in rivulets. Moody was crouched over the werewolf, wand swirling in a flurry of motions above the open wound, but it still wasn't doing anything to prevent Remus' life force from pooling on the ground.

It was everywhere; below him, around him, growing constantly in amount.

"R-Remus?"

And with just that one word, sound and noise returned, all at once.

Hermione was weeping, one quivering hand holding onto Remus while the other was clasped tightly between Ron's fingers, the redhead's pallor almost a mirror image of the werewolf's. Moody was cursing under his breath, both magical and normal eye centered on the gaping flesh wound that extended from Remus' right shoulder blade all the way down to his left hipbone.

And Remus wasn't breathing.

He wasn't…

Harry wiped at his cheek with jerky movements, knees threatening to collapse on him again at the sight of that crimson substance. Remus' blood was still warm on his fingers. Too swiftly for him to do anything but stare, something coiled around his raised wrist, a black, leather cord, and Harry was abruptly flung backwards. The wind was knocked out of him with the fall, his aching and sore body simply unable to gather the required strength to get up.

The cord dragged him effortlessly along the ground, and Harry couldn't fail but cry out as muscles were pulled and his healed shoulder blade gave a sting of warning, the black cloak Voldemort had had him don was twisting and intertwining between his legs, making it seem as though he was being pulled by two sides thanks to the additional weight.

He was deposited at someone's feet and he didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Ron and Hermione were yelling his name, voices laden with panic and fear. He looked at them, deep down knowing there was no way for him to reach their side now.

She must have seen in his face how terrified he was; for Remus, for their own lives and of going back to that place, because the witch made to get up, but Moody's rough hand encased her arm, yanking her back. "It's too late, Granger!" he snapped when the girl resisted and tried to pull away, "We can't do anything else for Potter, but if we hurry, Remus can stil –"

Harry froze, Hermione and Ron not faring any better.

Blood came spurting out of Moody's clogged throat, staining his mouth red and streaking down his chin.

Mad-Eye's good eye fluttered close, body growing slack and collapsing in a heap to the ground. One of the Death Eaters had regained consciousness and was standing a small distance away from the place the ex-Auror had fallen, wand trained on his form in case there was still some fight left in him. Once it became obvious Moody wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon, they lowered their arm to their side.

"Deranged fuck," the Death Eater, Crouch Jr., spat disdainfully.

"Mad-Eye," Ron whispered horrified, and Barty's wand was nailed on him in an instant.

Harry tried to haul himself up, to scramble to his feet despite the killing headache that was making black spots dance across his vision, but he only got as far as rising on his knees before both of his wrists were snatched up into the steely grasp of a hand. He thrashed, pulling and shouting to be released, but the long fingers might as well have been manacles, metal and unyielding.

"Kill them," Voldemort hissed, an all too familiar, sickly green light lighting up the tip of Crouch's wand.

Ron quickly drew Hermione to his chest, pressing her face close to his neck so that she didn't look and buried his own face in her hair, eyes closing in resignation when he heard her terror filled scream.

Harry's heart came to a stuttering halt.

He didn't even pause to think it through. Green eyes narrowed, the bright irises darkening with undiluted rage, and Crouch's arm bent cleanly in half, snapping like a vulnerable little twig and tearing an agonized howl from the man in the process. He collapsed to his knees, good hand clutching his broken one close, wand cluttering uselessly to the ground.

Voldemort shook him violently until he lost his balance, fingers tightening until Harry felt his wrist bones grind painfully together.

"Ron!" he shouted after he had swallowed the bile in his throat, eyeing the rest of the Death Eaters who in the face of all the commotion were starting to come around. "Ron, go!"

The redhead gave a jerky nod, retrieving a coin from his pocket and setting it on Remus' shredded body, while Hermione reached out and grabbed onto the werewolf's hand. Ron mimicked her by doing the same with Moody, only to retract his arm when deep lacerations ripped into the appendage. His shocked, hurt cry was cut short when the portkey did its intended job and whisked them away from Diagon Alley.

Harry sagged, Voldemort's hand the only thing that was keeping him upright.

The Dark Lord bent his head to the point he could feel the man's hair intermixing with his own. "Congratulations, my treasure." he said sweetly, "You have managed to make me really, really angry."

Tremors enveloped Harry's entire frame, suddenly wanting to hide.

"_Stupefy!" _came the icy whisper, and Harry's head slumped down, unconscious.

Voldemort let the boy fall to the ground. He'd let him slumber for the time being and play with him after he was done with straightening out today's mess.

And he really despised messes.

His Circle were rising back on their feet slowly, clearly disoriented as they gazed curiously at their surroundings. "My Lord?" Lucius inquired, one hand lifting to rub at his temples, "What happened?"

Voldemort ignored him, lowering himself in front of Barty.

He looked at the young man's firmly pursed lips, and then down at the unnatural angle of his arm. "I need you to straighten your arm so that I may mend the bones." Barty complied, gingerly unfolding his limb and holding it out before his Master. By the time he had accomplished it, sweat was trailing down the side of his face.

"What happened?" Lucius repeated, much more alert this time, as they approached the pair.

Voldemort clucked his tongue. "Nothing I hadn't considered as a possible outcome." He carefully took Barty's arm in his palm, appraising the damage.

"My Lord," Narcissa intervened, "please, allow me."

"Silence," he barked sharply, still vexed with the witch. "If you wish to be of use, then round them up and ensure they haven't suffered a concussion."

"As you wish." she replied with a bow, and Voldemort returned his attention to Barty.

He pressed the tip of his wand into the already swollen flesh, _"Ferula."_ Immediately, there was a cracking sound as the broken bones repositioned themselves and took their original, rightful place. The tension left Barty's face, relief taking over his features as the soothing effect that accompanied the healing spell spread though his appendage.

"Thank you, Master." he whispered sincerely, and Voldemort tipped his head in return. He rose to his feet and although his body had been returned to him younger than it should be, younger even than Barty's, when he helped the other to do the same it was with little effort.

Barty must have been thinking along those lines, slight heat pooling at the base of his neck as he grinned sheepishly.

Voldemort felt faint traces of amusement playing at his lips. "I do hope you are taking proper care of yourself. Imagine the mortification the rest of the Circle would feel if one of their own were to collapse from hunger."

He hid his pleased smirk by turning and sauntering over to the group the rest of his Death Eaters had formed, listening to Barty splutter behind him.

His elite were truly entertaining sometimes.

"Is there anything?" he asked Narcissa, the medi-witch inclining her head.

"I cast diagnostic spells on them all, my Lord. Other than a slight swelling, and a few minor scrapes, they're in perfect health."

Voldemort nodded, appeased that Harry's endeavor hadn't left any permanent damage on his followers. The boy was gaining more control over his wandless magic with each new attempt. Voldemort's brows knitted together suddenly, taking notice of the way Narcissa held one of her hands partially hidden behind her back.

"What of yourself?"

The woman waved off the question with a shake of the head. "Just a sprain, my Lord. I'm afraid I accidentally landed on my wrist."

Yes, he had suspected as much. Voldemort extended his arm, splayed out hand facing upwards. "Show me."

"That's alright, my Lord, I can –" A single look from Voldemort and she cut herself off, dutifully presenting her hand which Voldemort wasted no time to examine. Deducing that it really was only a minor sprain and nothing major, he performed the same spell he used on Barty, the light purple ring that had been marring the skin slowly fading into nothing.

"Thank you."

Voldemort looked at her, heaving a sigh at the way she wouldn't lift her eyes. She was a clever woman, it was no wonder she remained wary of him, but he had already delivered retribution for her actions, targeting them all as per the new rules.

"At ease, Narcissa." he said, "You have been punished once already."

She peered hesitantly up at him, and Voldemort felt a twinge of irritation at her meek disposition. It wasn't becoming of her in the least. "You know the prescription, Narcissa. The Circle's job is to pose as my weapon, a well oiled equipment that I can wield without the doubt of failure. And it is my job to act as your shield, guard you from everything and anything that means you harm."

He turned to face the rest, meeting their surprised faces as he addressed them. "Merely because I punished you not long ago doesn't mean I will sit idly by while you are wounded. You're _my_ Inner Circle; no one's allowed to harm you other than myself, and Harry shall be dealt with accordingly for the insolence he showed today."

"My Lord," Rodolphus stepped forward, crouching down to one knee. "We apologize for failing you today, even though it's inexcusable."

The others followed his example, heads lowering in shame.

Voldemort eyed them through lidded eyes, knowing he couldn't really fault them for the way the events unfolded. Wandless magic was vastly unpredictable, answering only to the whims of its wielder and nearly impossible to defend against. "I have learnt to foresee Harry's predictability in regards to specific situations. I didn't expect it to go smoothly when he was involved."

He paced before them, gaze landing on the unmoving form of the ex-Auror not too far away and suddenly, he didn't consider today to be a downright disaster.

"In fact, I'm rather pleased." At the multiple pairs of shocked eyes that snapped up to him, Voldemort couldn't fail but chuckle. "The werewolf is as good as gone, and as for the press…well, we have taken control of every single Wizarding newspaper in Britain, including the Daily Prophet. Today's events will be presented precisely as we wish them to."

Walden and Rabastan snickered loudly at that, having been the ones the Dark Lord had dispatched to take care of Barnabas Cuffe, the editor of the Daily Prophet. The man didn't even had to be _Imperiused_; threatening his wife and the lives of his two kids had ensured his continued cooperation.

"Most importantly," Voldemort went on, "I finally have in my grasp the man who dared deprive me of the only person that had remained of my original Inner Circle."

Black clad shoulders stiffened, all of them aware of the significance of those people, the Dark Lord's first ever elite, and the tragedy of their deaths.

"Lucius," Voldemort intoned softly, still looking at Moody's body, "we have Abraxas' murderer at long last."

In a moment of weakness, when he was too shaken to maintain his constructed mask, the blond trembled perceptibly, hands clenching tightly by his sides. The only reason he didn't rush to rectify that mistake and school his expressive features back into the stoic and passive state that had been instilled in him as a Malfoy, was because he knew they wouldn't judge him for it.

Not this company.

"He…" Lucius paused, jaw set, "Alastor Moody is the person that killed my father?"

Voldemort didn't know if he should divulge the details of Abraxas' death, not because he didn't trust them to never breathe a word of it, but because it was a personal matter, all of their deaths had been but Abraxas most of all simply because he was the only one Voldemort had been left, his responsibility. And yet he had failed him.

He also didn't want to share such information because Abraxas was first and foremost Voldemort's right hand man. He had belonged to him long before he had created a family for himself.

They had been his and he let them be taken from him, most too early into the war, before they even had a chance to take a wife or have children… a legacy.

It's been years since, and Voldemort had had the leisure to move past denial and into acceptance. It required effort on his part, and it had scarred, but in the end he had made it. Lucius on the other hand wasn't so fortunate. Closure was eluding him to this day still, to the point it had been made a silent agreement to never mention Abraxas' name.

"It was an ambush," he said at last, simply because he didn't want Lucius' memories of his father to be stained by bitterness and spite, "Abraxas was leading a group of Outer Circle Death Eaters in a raid when it happened. It was mixed forces of Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix."

His anger was mounting in remembrance the longer he stared at the limp body, recalling the first time he met the man.

"It was chaos the moment they attacked. Though more in numbers, the rest of the Death Eaters were nowhere near Abraxas' level and experience in battle. They were taken down fast, and amidst the fray, Alastor Moody snuck up on Abraxas while he was protecting one of the youngest Death Eaters."

Voldemort's eyes flashed. "It was dishonorable, but it allowed him to bring down Abraxas' defenses and disarm him. He was the first to cast the Curse that disembodied Abraxas, and the last to escape the battlefield when I arrived."

He let his gaze seek Lucius' for the first time and if those silver eyes were glistening unusually, the Dark Lord didn't comment on it.

"I tore them all to shreds, tortured every single one of them in the exact agonizing way they tortured Abraxas. Moody was the single only person that slipped away."

Lucius' hands were restless with rage, lips curled into a feral snarl.

"My Lord," the blond gritted out, "let me have him."

Voldemort expected no less. "Do with him as you wish."

"He's wronged us too, Master." Rabastan said, looking from him to Lucius, "He was the one that put my brother and I in Azkaban. If Lucius would allow it, we'd like to partake in whatever he has planned."

"As if any of us is just going sit back and watch." Barty growled.

Everyone nodded their agreement, expressions tight. "Alastor Moody has committed numerous crimes against the Inner Circle," Antonin muttered darkly, eyes boring into Lucius, "both in the past and the present."

"Fine," Lucius assented, "But under one condition; I get to start and no one interferes."

"Deal." Walden agreed with a smirk that was all edges.

Voldemort had no doubt they could make the supposedly toughest member of the Order twist and bend at their will. When they worked together, they could have frightening results indeed. "Rise, my faithful," he spun on his heels, walking closer to Moody and not needing to look to know they'd follow, "for today is quite glorious."

He stared down with a sneer.

"Go inspect the damage the Outer Circle have wreaked by now and then return to retrieve this pathetic thing. Treat him however you deem fit, but you are to keep his mind intact. I need it to be fully functional before I rip it apart."

The crooked grins he received in reply were more than enough.

"Go, there are some matters I need to settle back in the Manor." He waved them away, going back to where his unconscious little menace lay. He bent low enough to take hold of the boy's forearm before straightening again, the limp body much like a rag doll with the way it sagged in his grip, moving whenever he moved.

He observed him for a moment, finding this pliant version of the usually feisty teen rather hard to come to terms with.

It'd certainly be interesting to see how he'd be after his punishment was over.

With that thought in mind, Voldemort disappeared from Diagon Alley, materializing again in a specific room in Malfoy Manor and dropping the boy on the floor. One wave of his yew wand and Harry was twitching into awareness. He braced himself on his hands carefully, and Voldemort could see him squint through the darkness of the chambers in search of the Dark Lord.

He stayed back, waiting patiently, curious to see what the boy would do next.

Harry didn't get up from the floor, preferring to feel around with his hands than risk bumping into any sorts of objects.

Clever move, but wasted, considering that no objects had been stationed in here.

Harry must have deducted as much because he frowned, and despite the thick blackness, Voldemort could clearly place the bright pair of green eyes flickering helplessly around. "I know you're here." the boy huffed, more in tune now with his presence than any time in the past.

"What's this place?" he asked, more anxious this time, clearly unnerved by both the extended silence and his lack of vision.

Good, he should be anxious.

"Tom?" Harry ventured again, chewing at his lower lip upon receiving no reply and then promptly decided that trying to explore on his own was more likely to provide him with answers. And explore he did; Voldemort watched as he crawled like a toddler, on his hands and knees, proceeding tentatively, with a caution so unlike the teen, but then again, he supposed that fear could turn even the bravest people wary.

It went on like that for a while, until Harry halted as something occurred to him. "What's this smell?"

Voldemort resisted a chuckle. What indeed?

As amusing as this was proving to be, anticipation had started gnawing at his insides and Voldemort decided to drop the charade. There was still one thing that remained, and the Dark Lord was most eager to get to it, so he cast a non-verbal Lumos, the narrow room overflowing with the powerful brightness of the spell.

And Harry screamed, scrambling on the back of his elbows, limbs entangling together in his haste to get as far away as possible from the decomposing corpse he had nearly come face to face with.

Chest heaving and pupils blown, the boy clamped a shaking hand over his mouth, ashen faced and sick to his stomach.

Voldemort in turn, shifted his gaze over to the swollen, deformed body of Peter Pettigrew, analyzing it with a critic eye. Thick puss and black-purple blood was covering nearly the entire corpse, especially around his eyes, the whites of which had turned a deep red after all the optical vessels burst. The flesh of his torso and abdomen were as good as nonexistent now, having melted down to reveal his intestines.

Yes, he supposed it didn't make a very pleasant sight, and combined with the putrid smell of rotten flesh, it became downright foul.

"Well," he shrugged, "at least you parents' traitor friend can no longer torment you with the knowledge that he lived while they died."

Harry moaned lowly, folding his arms over his drawn up knees and burying his face in them. "And you couldn't have just told me you killed him?" his voice came slightly muffled, but it sounded strained. "No, of course not. You had to show me, right?"

"He wasn't like this a few hours ago." he replied thoughtfully, that little detail truly intriguing him, "Must be the toxin."

Glassy eyes peeked up hesitantly, "Toxin?"

"Yes," Voldemort nodded and gestured towards the corpse. "You see, I was testing my newest invention on him." He brandished his wand, casting in complex Parseltongue while performing upward and then circular motions with his arm. He could hear the questions in the boy's mind throughout the procedure, broadcasting his perplexity for the Dark Lord to pick up on.

Once he finished, twin black snakes slithered down from Wormtail's arms and dragged their small, sleek bodies towards Voldemort, curling around his boot clad feet.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Two tiny black heads were lolled backwards at the sound of his voice, hissing their appreciation.

"Yes, very charming." the teen quipped.

Voldemort hummed, purposely ignoring the blatant sarcasm. "They are the result of an enchantment I created."

"Wait, you created a spell?"

He looked up at the surprised tone, smiling sardonically. "Did you think only Severus was capable of such a feat?" The teen scoffed, thoughts projecting exactly what he thought of the Potions Master. "In fact, the potion Dumbledore had to consume during your little adventure was another creation of mine."

Harry's face contorted in anger. Apparently, Dumbledore's death was still a sore subject for the boy. "I call it the Drink of Despair." Voldemort continued, unperturbed by the glower sent his way. "Fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Harry would have answered if his attention hadn't suddenly been drawn to the two serpents slowly making their way towards him.

"What are they doing…?" he muttered warily, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped.

Voldemort watched them circle the teen lazily, head tilting lightly to the side. "You were curious about the spell, were you not? The enchantment I just cast was to modify their toxicity levels. Their poison is very special, lethal even if not rectified to acceptable capacities, and its victims are prone to powerful hallucinations." He regarded the boy, suddenly recalling one of his memories. "Yes, you have experience with Boggarts, correct? Imagine their nature of morphing into the viewer's worst nightmare but magnified tenfold."

"Yes, yes, you're a genius, we've established that." Harry whispered fervently, resorting to crawling in an attempt to put more distance between himself and the pursuing snakes. "I really don't need a demonstration to believe you."

Voldemort let out a dark chuckle, freezing Harry in his tracks. "You should be happy. I'm doing as you asked; being creative in my methods of punishment."

The boy's eyes grew wide, comprehension dawning on his features and raw panic had but a few seconds to settle in before Voldemort thrust his arm forward, wand tip lighting up, and then his mouth was opening in a cry that never quite made it past his throat; it got stuck there, his entire body paralyzing in the face of the mind numbing pain that set his blood on fire.

He looked down at his arms, caught sight of only the ends of the snakes' tails before those too disappeared under his skin and thought he was going to lose it right there and then.

Harry thrashed on the ground like a fish that had been forced out of the water, literally feeling the snakes as they moved under the surface of his skin, inside his very arms.

After what to him appeared like an eternity, they finally stilled.

Too late he realized he was crying, feeling the wetness that clung to his eyelashes in stubborn reminder of its presence.

He lay there, drained and strangely hollow, unable to think past the dreadful, grotesque way he was going to die and the torture he was going to face until that happened. Wormtail must have been in a great deal of pain before the merciful abyss dragged him under.

More tears escaped him without his consent and Voldemort was suddenly there beside him, stroking his cheek and wiping the water trails away.

"Oh, Harry, I'm not going to kill you. You know I won't."

Yes, the teen knew that, and sometimes he hated that, because death was starting to have too much appeal to him; it'd be like a breath of fresh air.

"You brought this upon yourself, do you realize?" The fingers continued their mindless petting, warm against Harry's freezing skin. "You know better than to try and run." Those pale, aristocratic features appeared almost fond as their owner peered down at him. "I will always find you, and bring you back where you belong."

Harry truly didn't know anymore, couldn't discern if that was a threat or a promise…

"Sweet dreams, my treasure, or should I say…" Pearly white teeth were revealed when a gleeful smile split Voldemort's face, "sweet nightmares."

…But as the Dark Lord purposely made his scar sting, the little push sending Harry head first into the blackness of oblivion, he realized it didn't matter.

He was too tired to run.

_**TBC…**_

**A/N: **Wow, I think that's actually the longest chapter so far in this story. On another note, all spells and names come directly from **Harry Potter Wiki**, so yes, they do exist.

Please leave some feedback for me, and thank you for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN **

Harry blinked blearily, not really comprehending the dark grey walls that surrounded him. For a moment it was all he could do to stare. Hadn't he been elsewhere before?

…Where was it, again?

He couldn't remember.

He leaned his head back, eyes rolling upwards to get a better look at the stone pillar behind him.

Oh, he was in the cellar. Of course he was. Was it time for another practice lesson? Strange…usually Voldemort was the one to wake him. What had they practiced yesterday? Perhaps he hadn't been as tired as usual after the session? It'd explain how he had woken before Voldemort arrived.

Humming quietly in contemplation, the teen turned his head in search of his owl, wondering if she were still asleep.

But there was no cage in sight.

Harry sat up straighter, all traces of sleep vanishing in an instant. "Hedwig?"

Frenzied emeralds flicked every which way, knowing without looking there was nothing to find. Had Hedwig been there, she'd have answered already…his girl always did when he called.

What happened? Had he done something wrong and Voldemort took her away?

No…that wasn't right.

Harry fell back against the pillar, head suddenly reeling.

He had told Hedwig to go away, hadn't he? Back in the -?

Diagon Alley! He remembered now. Voldemort had Stupefied him, and when he had been brought back into consciousness it was to find himself in that shithole of a crypt. What was Voldemort doing anyway? Keeping corpses inside his Headquarters like that. Then again, he had placed an army of Inferi as guards for his Horcrux.

The mere thought of Wormtail being turned into such a creature had his stomach churning in disgust.

His friends were safe, though, and it was all he could ask for.

'_What about Remus?' _his mind supplied, and his relief was quick to be squashed.

Was Remus really…? No, he couldn't afford to think like that. Ron and Hermione had taken him with them, the Order was bound to find a way and heal him, they had to. And Moody? He didn't know for how long he had been out, but the Death Eaters didn't need much time to pick your brain apart; an extended Torture Curse could easily deliver that result.

Doubt suddenly flooded him. Was Mad-Eye going to be alright? He knew the wizard was tough, but how long could he last under the Inner Circle's meticulous care?

A thought occurred to him, and Harry tensed.

What if Voldemort himself decided to have a go at him?

The dread that pooled root-deep within his core was enough to spur him into action. He rose to his feet with care, recalling the killer headache he had been suffering from, but the room didn't spin and the world didn't come crushing down, and encouraged, Harry ventured forth.

The black, iron bars of the cellar were firmly shut, obscuring his only way towards the exit, but for once, the sight of them didn't have him seething in a strange mixture of anger and desperation.

He knew how to deal with them now.

Closing his eyes, he only needed to focus and sure enough, there his magic was, nestled within the safety of his core, knowing he had use for it and waiting patiently.

The bars burst open with a loud bang, rattling against the stone wall with which they connected, and Harry winced. He had come to terms that he wasn't the sneaky, subtle type, he always seemed to cause a ruckus with everything he did, but really now? This was just too much. He might as well have used the Sonorusenchantment to announce to everyone within the building he was up and about.

It was while he was making a mental note to work on the subject sometime in the near future, that he heard it.

Ceasing all motions so as not to make any sound, Harry listened carefully, an imminent sense of something suspiciously nasty bugging his mind the more time he spent trying to pinpoint that noise. It was distinctive, like a tune he had heard many times before but had forgotten how to put a name on it after a while, and it grew in volume, an incessant, angry sound that was seriously starting to grate on Harry's nerves, so much akin t-

Head jerking abruptly downwards, Harry made quick work of pulling up the black sleeves of the cloak, looking at the writhing snakes incomprehensively. Their small, triangular heads were resting on the upper side of his forearms, bodies curling once, twice around his wrists until their tails ended up on the underside.

The black, slim bodies kept twitching, like they were being charged with electrical currents, and Harry was ultimately torn between intrigue and justified disgust at the sight.

Then, the snakes stilled so fast and so suddenly, that Harry had to blink to make sure he wasn't just imagining things.

Not that he had much time to dwell on it.

One second Harry was blinking, and the next, two identical black heads were mere inches away from his face, causing him to start and stumble backwards into the pillar. Their upper bodies had sprung right out of his skin, beady black eyes looking straight at him, their disconcerting stare holding unwaveringly strong, and then, he was no longer looking into obsidian pools but crimson.

The teen's breath hitched in his throat because he knew it couldn't possibly be a coincidence, but movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he stared in plain bewilderment when the snakes' tails rose from the very flesh they had appeared to be etched into only a moment ago, hovering above his arms for a couple of seconds before shooting upwards with lightning speed, and Harry nearly gave himself whiplash with how fast he craned his head up, catching only a glimpse of the way the black tips embedded themselves in the stone behind him.

A low, vibrant hissing, had wide green eyes snapping down once more, and as though waiting until they had his full attention, both snakes unhinged their jaws, revealing needle-like pearly fangs that were dripping with beads of black liquid.

A memory surfaced to the forefront of his mind, of pale, mesmerizing features and a cruel, _cruel_, smile and all color drained from his face once he remembered his punishment.

"No…" was all he could whisper, futile as he knew it was, because these serpents wouldn't listen.

They had been created with the sole purpose of doing Voldemort's bidding, and he really doubted that a few words in Parseltongue were going to dissuade them.

As if to prove his point, their aloft bodies took an abrupt dive downwards, sparing Harry a single moment of confusion before his lips parted and he was crying out as those sharp fangs dug brutally into his skin, clearly picturing them ripping huge chunks of flesh as they drew back, clasped savagely between their jaws, but their fangs remained fastened inside his arms, and it became painstakingly clear why.

He didn't know how it was possible, but he could feel every single drop of venom that was pumped through their fangs and directly into his veins.

It was agony.

Like someone was trying to shove spikes underneath his flesh, tiny ones that the person handling them never ran out of, and wasn't satisfied until at least a handful of them were residing securely inside his forearms.

He really couldn't choose which was worse; this, or Voldemort's utilizing of his scar to hurt and punish?

Only the reminder that he had withstood a combined assault of the Horcrux and the Dark Lord made him press his lips into a tight line, biting down uncaringly in order to stifle the scream that wanted to break out.

He lost count of the minutes that trickled by, caught between a maelstrom of raw pain and stinging heat.

By the time the snakes retracted their fangs, Harry was on the brink of passing out.

He observed them through the blurred haze that had descended over his sight, silently watching the way they lowered themselves until they were nothing but tattooed shapes on the surface of his skin. Every nerve present inside his body seemed like it was on sensory overload, to the point that even the stone behind his back had become scratchy and full of sharp edges.

He didn't care in the slightest about that, though. He could have been sitting on top of lit coals and he still wouldn't care.

His only concern was his arms.

He had officially lost all sense of feeling below the elbows, and even though his fingers still curled as commanded, it was like he was the detached third party watching someone else's hands, knowing the digits were moving only because he could see it.

Harry actually found himself hoping it was due to the substance the snakes had poured inside his body, and not because of their none too gentle ministrations.

Then again, which was preferable? Poison in your blood, or a physical wound?

And speaking of wounds…

Finally motivating himself to risk a glance, Harry outright cringed at the sight; twin puncture marks, one on each limb, could be located above some of the more prominent veins that coursed through his arms, the punctures themselves more like the size of little holes that were still oozing droplets of blood, the skin around the area an angry pink.

Harry deflated, mood souring rapidly at the thought of undergoing the very same procedure for an infinite amount of time.

Looking up at the spot the snakes' tails connected with the wall and then back down at his hands, the raven haired teen was completely at a loss as to how only part of their bodies could be solid while the rest remained patterns in his skin. He wanted to try pulling at his restraints, but considering he still couldn't feel a thing, he realized it'd be useless until sensation deigned to return.

Settling back against the pillar, Harry could only wait for either the poison's effects to kick in, or the function of his arms, whichever came first.

***)&(***

As it turned out, the venom won by a long shot.

It became obvious when the shadows produced by the never extinguishing torches started dancing by themselves.

At first he had written it off as anxiety setting in, but when one of the torches flickered twice, in the opposite direction each time, and the shadow it had cast over the floor flickered once before growing out of proportion until it reached all the way to where Harry was seated, he concluded he wasn't delirious enough for his mind to concoct something like that.

Well, not yet anyway.

Because as more shadows came to mimic their companion, forming fanged jaws at the tips and snapping at the teen's heels threateningly, Harry knew this was just the start, and that in return, made him truly fear for the state his mind would be in when it was over.

***)&(***

He must have dozed off, because a rough sound had him jolting awake with a snort.

The first thing he noticed was the suspicious absence of the beast-like shadows, and the second, surprisingly, was the sensation in his arms. Ecstatic that they had gone back to normal, he scooted forward without realizing it, ending up just a little bit outside of the restraints' range and consequently making them stretch taut.

He instantly regretted it.

The pain came so suddenly and so fast, that Harry was left momentarily disoriented. Lips parting in a muted scream, green eyes shot down to his wrists where the tattooed parts of the serpents felt like they were literally being dragged out of his skin with each tug of their lower bodies.

It hurt more each second he spent in that position and Harry shoved with his legs, pushing himself until his back finally met the pillar once more.

The moment the cord-like tails stopped being pulled, the dizzying pain disappeared altogether.

Breathing slowly, steadily, Harry chuckled, a low and bitter sound that reverberated around him.

It figured that Voldemort would come up with an enchantment that was the ultimate torture material; not only did it trap its victim in the worst scenario based illusions, which he didn't doubt for a second he was going to have a taste of sooner rather than later, but also shackled its subject with manacles that would tear out the flesh from their very bones should they try and break free.

Basically, he was allowed to lie down, sit, and stand but not take a single step farther.

What a joyous life he had the privilege of leading! Really, it was one rose filled experience after the other.

He seriously contemplated the possibility of having been someone really evil in a previous life and this was his way of paying for all his cruel deeds…for all about three seconds, actually, before an impossibly loud hoot had him jumping a mile high in the air.

Shit, if he survived this, Harry just knew his nerves were going to be permanently frayed.

Turning a withering glare to the source of his near cardiac episode, Harry had half a mind to curse Hedwig in the most colorful way he knew of, before his mouth finally seemed to catch up to his mind and he backpedalled.

What Hedwig?

Hadn't he sent his owl away on his own?

However, the longer he stared at the snowy bird a little ways on his left, the more he was convinced they were one and the same.

"Hedwig?" he asked uncertainly, brow furrowed.

The owl hooted again, sounding strangely disgruntled, and it was so similar to the sound his Hedwig made when she felt offended that Harry was struck speechless, especially when it was accompanied by a puffing of her feathery chest, her very own version of a mighty pout.

Laughing at the owl's antics despite himself, Harry held out his arm, mindful not to overstep the restraints' limits.

As expected, Hedwig recognized the gesture in a heartbeat and leapt excitedly in the air, landing in her usual pace atop his shoulder.

He didn't know what happened, but a split second before her talons curled in his clothing, round golden orbs grew double in size and Hedwig was flapping away from a shell shocked Harry with a screech. She landed a couple of feet ahead, falling unceremoniously on the floor in a messy heap of convulsing limbs that writhed and screeched louder and louder, trapped inside a heart wrenching agony that Harry failed to grasp.

"Hedwig!" he shouted, confused and scared beyond belief, unable to so much as reach out to take her in his arms.

The owl didn't seem to hear him, her wails rising in pitch until Harry was forced to clamp his hands tightly over his ears, but still they penetrated through, driving him mad with the amount of pure anguish they contained. He shut his eyes in an attempt to erase the image of his loyal companion thrashing and flailing helplessly, subjected to horrors that were entirely Harry's fault.

Of course Voldemort would find her, how could he ever have thought otherwise? To use her like this, though…just how far did the man have to go to prove his point?

Registering the eerie silence that had abruptly enveloped the place, Harry gingerly lowered his hands but once he reopened his eyes, he had to give himself pause.

What…what was that?

Hedwig had…she had become black.

Her beautiful, snowy feathers had turned entirely pitch black, her talons and beak sharper and curving too much and too long, metallic almost in appearance.

That was precisely the moment he realized she wasn't real. Not his owl, but a figment that had been weaved together according to his memories, not the real thing but as close as it was ever going to get. And even the knowledge it wasn't his Hedwig didn't help the tremors that engulfed his body, made him shake like a leaf as those familiar golden orbs stared steadfastly at him, accusingly and hatefully.

"I know," Harry murmured, smiling ruefully. "I'm sorry."

And that was how, many hours later, sleep finally claimed him; under the unrelenting, intense gaze of his owl's silent replacement.

***)&(***

When he came to, it was to the piercing pain of the snakes' fangs biting into his arms.

Forced into awareness so quickly and in such a way had its perks, Harry concluded, because his still addled brain had too much trouble wrapping around what was taking place to actually bother with screaming at the assault, which had by no means been any less taxing than the first.

The disarray that had been left of his thoughts took a while to diminish, long after the two black heads had gone back to being markings on his skin.

He'd have to spend a good portion of his waking hours with two useless appendages hanging like lead by his sides, again.

Sighing inwardly, Harry hoisted himself up as best as he could without his arms and sat with his back to the stone pillar. He gave in to checking out the damage those fangs had left in their wake only to grimace at the ugly looking bruises slowly blossoming underneath the puncture marks.

The bright pink from yesterday which had started to fade sometime into the night was now back full force and completely enhanced, a steadily darkening red that matched with perfect accuracy the bloody trails that stemmed from the reopened wounds.

Harry knew just by the sight of it that it was going to sting like hell when sensation was back.

Having nothing else to do, he simply sat there, staring upwards at the ceiling for what felt like a very long time. The numbness of his backside should have made him moved into a different position, but Harry ignored it simply for the sake of seeing how much longer it was going to take for it to become uncomfortable enough to finally shift.

It was that or singing out loud the few rhythms of the Hogwarts song that Dumbledore had made them memorize during his fourth year; the Headmaster's bemusing attempt of presenting something of their own after the other two schools' dazzling and very exaggerated entrances.

He hadn't given it much thought before, but that was the only song he knew.

During summer break he tended to try and limit his interactions with his relatives to the bare minimum, and of course, he hadn't been allowed any access to the radio, or Dudley's mp3 player and computer. Searching for any magical bands was also the least of his concerns upon re-entering the Wizarding world.

The only reason that little song had stuck was because the lyrics were fun, short and most importantly, didn't require any vocal talent; he just had to scream the sentences at the top of his lungs at the time.

But as his boredom grew, so did his desperation, and he was seriously toying with the idea of busying himself with the song when footsteps sounded from the staircase.

Instantly becoming alert, green eyes trained on the shadowed steps to get a glimpse of his visitor, frowning once he heard the heavy breathing and obvious effort that was put into every stride.

Harry's insides knotted together.

He didn't know who that was, but it definitely wasn't someone from the Inner Circle; they were all light on their feet, like they were calculating their every move.

The sound intensified as the person drew closer, and Harry was now able to identify it as something heavy landing messily on the floor, letting out a distinctive thumping noise that he just knew he had heard before.

Oh, come _on_, what was that?

It gave him the impression of being wooden…

But wood didn't sound nearly as heavy as this thing.

Metal, perhaps?

Yes! That actually stirred something in his memory, which was good really, up until the very moment he realized that the person that memory was associated with couldn't possibly be there, because he was supposed to be tortured, dead even if the Death Eaters hadn't felt particularly merciful.

Alastor Moody descended the final step, looking ragged as ever, and breathing coming in great gulps, if not eluding him entirely between intervals.

He braced himself against the nearest wall with his arm for a moment, as though the trek had worn him out, and Harry grasped the opportunity to observe him through guarded eyes.

He seemed intact, bruised and bone tired, clearly, but otherwise fine.

Red flags were starting to go up one by one in Harry's mind, based entirely on the absolute fact that no one could have survived the Inner Circle so relatively unharmed.

"Mad-Eye?" he asked suspiciously, because he knew the odds were certainly against him, but Moody had always been a tough nut to crack, possibly the most resilient member of the Order, so he wouldn't put it past him to have caught the Death Eaters unawares and slipped away.

Moody made a hasty, shushing motion with his hand, breathing still unsteady but at least he wasn't wheezing anymore.

"Quiet," Mad-Eye muttered, "or they might hear ya."

Harry nodded, unsure what to make of the situation, and the older wizard was suddenly overtaken by a coughing fit violent enough to make his entire frame jostle.

The man genuinely seemed to suffer and Harry grew worried when there didn't seem to be any stop to it, instead Mad-Eye's knees buckled beneath him from the force, the hand he had brought up to cover his mouth leaking crimson, dripping from the corners of his lips and staining his fingers.

"No, no, no…" Harry murmured, head shaking from side to side, willing the sight before him to go away.

"Potter…" Moody croaked briefly before the coughing got worse, choking him with his own blood.

"You aren't real," Harry countered, certain because someone was bound to have heard all the ruckus by now and run to check.

Moody didn't respond for a while, the blood having already drenched the entire front of his clothing and still the wizard heaved more, as if he wouldn't be satisfied until he had vomited all the blood his body contained. "A-always…an ex-excuse…" Mad-Eye said eventually, and Harry had to strain to even make sense of the gurgling sounds that reached his ears, "to…avoid…t-taking responsibility."

Harry shook his head wilder, offended and ashamed all at once, and just like with the fake Hedwig, clamped both hands over his ears when the sickening noise became too much, staring adamantly down at his feet, at the floor, the walls, the torches, anywhere but the dying man that was laughing and spurting thick blood at the same time.

He swallowed back the little moan that threatened to rise from his throat. What if that was really the fate that had befallen Moody? He didn't know how much time had passed since Diagon Alley; a day, perhaps? A day and a half? It was difficult to tell down there, with no windows and only the light of torches to go by.

It was, however, plenty of time for the Death Eaters to do some serious damage. Irreversible damage.

By the time he mustered enough courage to look up, the illusion created Mad-Eye was gone, and Harry couldn't help but muse if so was the real one.

***)&(***

Another agony laced bite had Harry sitting upright, wrenching him away from the restless nap he had unconsciously slipped into.

Chewing his lower lip between his teeth, the teen didn't even bother to look down at the serpents. He had the eerie feeling that it was becoming some sort of habit, the respite he was given lessening steadily and the serpents coming to life more frequently than they used to.

He pointedly ignored them as they retrieved their fangs before retreating themselves.

Why though?

Was it merely to torture him, have his head spin from the pain in addition to the hallucinations?

Either way, he wasn't particularly anxious to find out, already aware he wouldn't like the answer. When did he ever?

There was a scraping, metallic noise from somewhere to his right, and Harry involuntarily stiffened, his encounter with fake Moody too fresh and on the forefront of his mind still.

He did look, however, because there was just no avoiding the inevitable, and forced himself to blink upon discovering a corner of the wall draped in darkness.

Had it always been like that? He couldn't tell.

Squinting in an attempt to make out something, anything, in that thick, black fog, Harry could have sworn there was actual movement and then that metallic sound came again.

He visible started when he found himself looking into crimson eyes once more.

The boy had to double check, really, to make sure none of the snakes had risen and it was their faces before him, but a quick evaluation told him that other than the period of time they had taken to administer more poison in his veins they hadn't stirred once, which left him with only one other option.

As though able to read his racing thoughts, those red irises with the thin, black slits for pupils crinkled with unconcealed ridicule.

Harry growled low in retaliation, head slamming weakly behind him in a series of repeated motions. "You've got to be kidding me."

His tone probably had come out more acidic than he realized, because when the Horcrux spoke, its own was icy, "Trust me, you aren't the company I would have chosen, either."

Harry didn't answer, not because he had no retort to give, but because he was momentarily dumbstruck, having never heard before the Horcrux talk in anything but Parseltongue. Its normal, English voice kind of rubbed him the wrong way, though, for reasons he didn't even dare delve into.

"Are you supposed to be my next illusion?"

"Illusion?" the Horcrux echoed, sounding vaguely amused. "Simply because I'm inside your head doesn't necessarily mean I'm not real." Harry frowned up at the ceiling, ready to ask exactly what _that _was supposed to mean, when the other continued in a dull monotone, "In fact, I'm more substantial than anything else around here." A small pause, "…Including them."

Harry's back grew rigid, slowly dragging his gaze down to face the next round of nightmares, but nothing could have ever prepared him for the horror that greeted him.

Small tremors began developing throughout his body, and as cold sweat quickly bathed his back, the teen felt truly frightened for the first time since the whole ordeal had taken place.

He stared at the people gathered before him, met straight forth the four pair of eyes he had memorized by heart, and it really took all the strength he possessed to not just curl into a tight ball and scream until his throat turned raw.

The mangled, corpse like things of his parents, Sirius and Remus gazed heavily down at him with pinched expressions, akin to regarding something highly vile.

"Please," Harry whispered pathetically, "not this."

He wouldn't be able to bear it.

"Anything…" he pleaded hopelessly, even though he knew there was no way out. "Anything but this."

With perfect synchronicity, all of their faces contorted into something nasty, too ugly to possibly be put into words.

"We suffered for you," Remus growled venomously, a chalk white arm lifting to clutch the tattered remains of his shirt with steel fingers. They pulled until the material was torn apart, and once the deep, diagonal gash was revealed, they didn't hesitate to plunge inside the open wound, digging and digging with slow, unbothered movements before finally resurfacing, holding within their grasp what undoubtedly were the man's own intestines.

He held his hand out, nearly thrusting it in Harry's face for emphasis. "We _bled _for you."

Harry's stomach dropped, the nausea that crept up on him overriding the dread almost entirely.

Sirius stepped forward to join Remus, the pallor of his skin a sickly, pale blue that indicated the already awakened process of decomposing that his body was in. He leaned in close, foul breath wafting over Harry's face, filling his nostrils and bodily forcing him to recoil, to get as far away as the wall allowed him.

Those lifeless, dull blue eyes didn't waver in the slightest, "We _died _for you," the man spat disdainfully, mouth twisting in a spiteful sneer.

Then, he moved away, sliding beside Remus, and together they rejoined the rest.

As much as Harry didn't want to, he simply felt compelled to look, see for himself what had become of his parents.

…Or what was actually left of them.

Flesh tinged a dark, bruised blue with an assortment of black splotches all over their bodies and actual bones peeking through on multiple places, stark white and in perfect contrast with the rotted skin, the sight was plainly grotesque, and too much for the boy's knotted stomach.

In comparison to Sirius and Remus, they didn't speak, didn't accuse him of anything, and yet their silence hurt more than any physical blow could.

Throat having gone dry, Harry could only open and close his mouth uselessly.

Those familiar sets of eyes studied him closely, their dull gazes unlinking and empty, just like their husks for bodies; void shells and nothing but long dead flesh.

Slowly, as if they had forgotten how, their fingers twitched; once, twice, and then they were fully functional, stretching out as his parents lifted their arms, reaching towards him with bony hands, and mouths pulling taut into a toothless, revolting smile that had the teen's entire body seizing up.

"Worthless child," Lily whispered in a wheezing voice, taking a staggering, quivery step forward.

James' fingers flexed as he followed, pace just as unsteady, "Undeserving child." he rasped.

They approached him together, looking ready to keel over at any minute, and as they grew nearer, they literally did.

"You should have died!" they screeched with inhuman voices, and whatever was left of their flesh simply blew away, vanished until only their skeletons were left towering over Harry, and little by little, even that didn't last, cracking in several places over and over again to the point the disjointed parts could no longer hold themselves together and just crumpled into one huge pile of dust and ashes that hovered over the prone form of the teen, threatening to suffocate him the moment it descended and deliver the fate he had escaped that Halloween night all those years ago.

Harry woke up a single moment before it did.

He shot upright, wide emerald orbs jerking around wildly, searching for any lingering signs of the illusions' presence and nearly sobbing with relief upon finding none.

It had been a dream, he realized belatedly; all of it, even the Horcrux.

That knowledge didn't appease him, however. The cruel effects of it remained, vile and bitter where they lingered on his mind, and there to stay.

A sudden tingle surged through his spine, making Harry's head snap straight up.

To his dismay, he could feel himself tear up when he laid eyes on him, and then Voldemort was bridging the distance between them in long, elegant strides, stopping only once he was kneeling before Harry, taking the boy's face in his palms and drawing him close.

"Shh," he whispered softly, touching their foreheads together and gazing deeply into the boy's eyes.

Harry trembled, both at the gentle, soothing action and the relief it brought him.

It became obvious to him how truly affected he already was by this when he didn't recoil from the other man's touch.

"I'm losing my mind," he confessed quietly, fearful to admit it even to himself. Looking imploringly into scarlet depths, Harry raised shaky hands to cup the ones Voldemort had over his face and did the one thing he had forbidden himself to ever do in front of the Dark Lord.

He begged.

"Please, Tom." Harry muttered hoarsely, thoughts displaying with perfect clarity the desperation his tone contained.

Voldemort didn't commend, and his well constructed mask didn't betray anything. "Do you regret it?" he asked at last, and Harry knew it was his one chance at redemption, Voldemort's single offering of forgiveness.

And it was exactly why he withdrew his hands, lids sliding shut as he choked out a sob.

No, he didn't, and if he had the chance, he'd do it all over again.

Voldemort's anger was made apparent only through the brief, unintentional spiking of his scar. The next moment, the Dark wizard was on his feet, tossing a vial in the boy's lap. "Nutrition potion," he explained briefly, steel gaze boring into Harry's face. "You have been down here for three days now, your body needs proper assistance to make up for the nutrients it doesn't receive."

"…Three days?" Harry repeated robotically, unable to comprehend how he could have lost the passing of so much time.

"Of course," Voldemort continued as though Harry hadn't even spoken, "you said yourself that you aren't a guest here, and as per custom, prisoners don't get any claim over food."

Harry's fingers clenched reflexively around the small bottle.

So he was meant to survive only on the precious contents of the potion, and he didn't doubt for a second that even something like this was only a courtesy. Voldemort needed him alive for the connection with the Cloak; if it wasn't for that, he was certain he'd been left to slowly whither away from hunger.

Across from him, Voldemort shook his head, lips stretching into a mocking half-smile, "It always amazed me how guileless you were." the man said, chuckling wryly. "You see, Harry, it is common knowledge that treasures are invaluable; at least to the fare few that have learnt to see their worth."

Harry's brow furrowed, more than a little suspicious.

But Voldemort paid his jumbled musings no mind, "Drink up," he said, turning the other way and walking over to the staircase before pausing long enough to add, "From now on, my Death Eaters will be sent with a similar vial each day. You are to either consume it willingly, or by force."

And without so much as a scant glance in the direction of the destroyed bars, Voldemort left.

Teeth grinding painfully together, Harry flung out his arm and sent the bottle smashing into the very steps Voldemort had vacated, furious and indignant.

As if the damage he had already done wasn't enough, the man had the audacity to dish out more orders, and the worst part? He actually expected Harry to obey like a good little puppy.

Well, screw the Dark Lord!

Let them use force, he didn't care.

After all, how worse could it be when he was already falling apart?

_**TBC…**_

**A/N: **So, I got many reviews asking if this was going to be **slash**. The answer's **yes**, but it's going to be very light and mostly implied.

On another note, thank you, thank you so much for your support and please, if you find any mistakes don't hesitate to point them out, it's the only way to improve myself.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

"My Lord," Lucius' voice reverberated against the walls, deafening, given the otherwise quietness reigning over the chamber.

Voldemort didn't turn away from the window. With their meeting adjourned, he finally allowed his thoughts to wander as they pleased, mind weighted with a plethora of matters that required his attention, and although most of them were already taken care of, he couldn't help going over them again and again, in search of an endeavor that might have eluded him.

Fudge, along with his successor, Rufus Scrimgeour, had neglected the country to nearly unacceptable levels, only looking into the more urgent business which, after his return was made public, was to clean up the mess as best as they could while trying to avoid mass pandemonium.

'_Ignorant little fools,' _the wizard thought derisively, clothed arms rising to fold loosely over his chest.

But no matter. They had been dealt with, and soon, Wizarding Britain would be put into proper order.

He'd turn the country into a place its subjects were proud to call home.

"There's an issue…we would like to breach with you." Lucius went on, and Voldemort felt the burning twinge of irritation unfold within him. What were they still doing here? He had been more than clear with his dismissal earlier.

"You're procrastinating, Lucius. Say what you must or away with you."

"Well," the blond began, and Voldemort could see him in the glass looking at his fellows for assistance, "I'm not certain it's prudent to involve ourselves with this particular subject."

Ah, yes, how illuminating, and self-explainable in itself.

Scarlet orbs glanced at them from the corner of his eyes, unnoticed though, as he still hadn't faced them.

Now he understood their reluctance, but the fact still remained that they were wasting time meaninglessly.

"Yes?" he probed, reining in his impatience.

"Master," Walden reluctantly picked up, "it becomes exceedingly difficult to have him consume the potion. Actually, it's dangerous to even go near him these days."

Voldemort hmmed quietly in answer, lips curving slightly upwards.

His little experiment was coming along rather nicely. Well, the cellar's floors and walls had become a landscape of holes and spikes, but it was nothing that couldn't be reversed.

"Did you really believe," he said, finally turning towards them, "that you were left untouched only by mere chance whenever Harry lashed out?"

Multiple pairs of eyes stared incomprehensively at him, making the appealing urge to sigh all the more harder to avoid. "My Lord?" Rodolphus questioned, brow furrowed.

Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling indulgent enough to enlighten them.

"You're protected from Harry's magic; as for the how, figure it for yourselves."

They all flinched back, easily recognizing the chastisement contained inside those words.

"What about the bindings?" Rabastan insisted, looking around the table, "I think we all agree his wandless magic has become refined enough to control with more ease. Shouldn't we have stationed guards in case he breaks free?"

It was only because Voldemort knew the younger man wasn't questioning his judgment, but rather expressing genuine concern for a scenario such as the boy running away to take place, that he didn't have him screaming for his imprudence. No, his Circle had been trained better than that.

They also trusted him, he knew that, could read it clear as day in their unguarded minds, but old habits were hard to die, and it wasn't always easy to refrain from claiming disloyalty, even if it were this crowd.

They had presented him with their absolute faith, however, through many trials and errors, and he recognized it wasn't something to be given lightly.

"The enchantment I cast was in Parseltongue," he explained calmly, and had to wait for the explosion of excited murmurs to die out.

"Parselmagic?" many of them whispered with unconcealed awe.

"That was truly mean, Master!" Barty exclaimed, his grinning visage overlapping the hurt expression he was originally going for, and Rabastan hastened to add, "Why, we didn't know you disliked us so much!"

The others huffed out laughs, and this time, Voldemort couldn't resist a heavenward roll of the eyes. "Yes, how selfish of me to keep you from viewing a display such as that."

They blabbered on about the sight it must have been, their voices so obviously reverent that it honestly caught Voldemort off guard. Not that he could blame them, of course. Parseltongue was a gift that only few had the fortune of possessing, and Parselmagic was even more rare a skill, almost entirely nonexistent.

Though all descendants of the Slytherin bloodline were born Parselmouths, only Salazar Slytherin himself had been known for ever practicing Parselmagic.

Voldemort leaned against the wall, not really feeling like reclaiming his seat at the table, and it was like his movement shattered some sort of entranced haze, for they all regained their composures in a rush. "Parselmagic is, quite possibly, far more complex than wandless magic could ever aspire to be." he continued, "Its uniqueness stems from the fact that only the person that cast the spell is able to undo it. It matters not if another individual speaks the Serpent Tongue. Even if they were capable of handling Parselmagic, they'd still be incapable of breaking the enchantment."

"It truly sounds wondrous, does it not?" Antonin mused.

From his seat next to him, Yaxley nodded in affirmation, "And as the law of nature demands, nothing remarkable enough is without difficulty."

"Oh, Master!" Bellatrix gushed, scooting forward in her chair to get a better look at Voldemort. "Would you do us the honor of performing Parselmagic sometime in the future? For us?"

The witch's enthusiasm was apparently contagious as everyone else joined in with eager inclines of the head.

Voldemort returned the gesture with a miniature one of his own. "If you wish."

The answering smiles and grins of elation those three little words invoked struck a chord, shockingly enough, and one that he never knew even existed. While it was true they weren't anywhere near the regard he held for his first Circle, he supposed that after years of having them under his supervision, they might have grown on him the tiniest bit.

Storing that possibility away for later inspection at what it could entail, he had to heave a mental groan.

Sometimes he was too analytical, too thorough for his own good, he recognized that much.

"Rodolphus, Rabastan, Barty, Antonin, Yaxley," he called out, raising a single eyebrow once the aforementioned people turned to look at him, "training with the new recruits starts in fifteen minutes. Shouldn't you be making preparations?"

They cast the _Tempus _charm, swearing loudly when they confirmed they were running late. With quick motions they rose from the table, bidding their farewells on their way to the doors.

"Oh, and Barty, Rabastan?"

They both came to a joined halt, and it was clear from their twin expressions of guilt they already knew what the Dark Lord was meaning to say.

"As amusing as I'm certain you consider their lack of skill, remember that you pose as their instructors, and not their personal bullies." He eyed them meaningfully, adamant in the matter. He had let their folly go unmentioned in the hopes they would learn to restrain themselves, but no such thing had taken place. "By teaching them respect, you inspire admiration in them, and therefore, nurturing their abilities will eventually become far easier a task."

They had the decency to look ashamed, staring down at the floor with their heads bent. "Yes, Master." they easily chorused, bowing before making their inconspicuous escape.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, not fooled in the slightest by the display. "Keep an eye on them." he told the other three, earning resigned sighs from Yaxley and Antonin and a lazy smirk from Rodolphus.

"Don't we always, my Lord?" the man said, all of them nodding respectfully.

"My Lord," Narcissa spoke up once the double doors slid soundlessly shut, "I know it's not my place to say, but given the amount of time the boy has been subjected to the venom, I have consulted with Severus and we both agree it might be a danger to his health."

The Potions Master sat straighter once he found himself under the Dark Lord's sudden scrutiny. "Yes," he confirmed, "the sample we acquired from Wormtail's corpse contained a toxin of the highest level." He intentionally summoned the results of their findings on the forefront of his mind as he gazed into crimson orbs, "Potter's been exposed to that toxin for days now, and although I don't deny that his death wouldn't particularly grieve me, the Vow I have taken ensnares me to bring this matter to your attention, my Lord."

"As a healer," Narcissa interjected, "I'm also compelled to do so."

"And yet," Voldemort said softly, eyes boring into her face and catching the errant thought she hadn't mentioned, "there's something else that propels your motivation."

She didn't deny it, never would she dare lie so shamelessly to him. And aware he had already caught on to her musings, she didn't beat around the bush, either. "My Lord, you care for him, do you not?"

"Cissy!" Bellatrix hissed from beside her, while the rest could only stiffen.

"That is out of line, Narcissa." Voldemort whispered, and the temperature dropped significantly, until it reached the icy quality the wizard's voice had attained.

"I'm aware," Narcissa muttered apologetically, but unable to look away from that stormy gaze, no matter how much she desired to tear her head the other way. It had nothing to do with the unmistakable, imposing presence of his magic; that visage was so hauntingly enrapturing even in the throes of anger.

Realizing that now was the worst time for her thoughts to stray off course, the witch pulled herself back together.

"I meant no offense, my Lord, you know that. Although not at liberty to question your actions against Potter, I…my Lord, I can't help fear you're pushing him too much."

Lucius made to take hold of her hand, but she retracted hers, sparing her husband a single, hard look before shifting her attention back to their Lord. This was her choice; no one else should have to pay for it. And besides, she needed no coddling.

She was Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, recognized healer of Wizarding Britain and a member of the Dark Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle…

As someone proud for every single one of those titles, she wasn't going to let others fight her battles.

"I'm only concerned that if you were to prolong this for much longer, Potter will cease to be the person you knew."

Voldemort's lower lip curled into a sneer. "That is exactly what I want, Narcissa, what I've been striving for all this time."

The blonde frowned, and from the expressions on the others' faces, they were just as puzzled as she was. "You want to change him?"

The Dark Lord faced away from her, gaze relocating to the night sky outside the window, and even though she wouldn't admit it, the gesture hurt. It was like he couldn't even bother to look at her.

"What I want," the man eventually said, "is for him to shed his old skin and evolve. Only once he accepts his true nature, and embraces every single aspect of himself, can he truly become the person he's meant to." An unexpected, grinding sound reached their ears and it was to their utter astonishment they realized it was coming from their Lord's set jaw. "I will cleanse him of all colors and repaint him with the right ones, and I shan't stop until he demolishes the carefully arranged walls that Dumbledore so cunningly had him build."

It was a declaration, they all knew, and they held no doubt in their minds that their Master fully intended to see it through.

When Voldemort next spoke, his tone was collected once more, devoid entirely of the fierceness they had heard only seconds before. "Worry not, Narcissa. I have adjusted the toxicity of the venom so that it won't bring any harm to the boy's physical health, I assure you of that."

It surely wasn't missed on them the purposeful way that Potter's mentality was left out, but as the Dark Lord whirled to face them, they certainly didn't care to ask.

"I value your counsel," he said, walking with slow, steady steps towards Narcissa but addressing the entire room, "otherwise I wouldn't confer the country's affairs with you." Slim fingers draped over the back of the witch's pale neck, in a caress that was heavy with reminder; of the power its owner held not only over her, but over them all. "My dealings with Harry, however, are my own, and if you presume to interfere in any way, ever again, I can promise you a retaliation more noteworthy than a mere flaming of the Dark Mark."

Then, the digits were gone, and Narcissa finally allowed herself a much needed gulp of air, shoulders sagging.

Hands clasped behind his back, the Dark Lord retreated with impeccable poise back to his position by the window. "Pass that along to the others once you replace them in two hours."

Recognizing the curt order for the cue it really was, they rose from their seats and bowed down to their waist, leaving the chamber feeling shaken, and with the foreboding sense they had just been given an ultimatum.

Scarlet irises followed their procession out, liquefied fire just barely restrained back.

Perhaps he ought to have assigned an escort other than Narcissa when he sent Harry to retrieve the locket.

He suspected that by receiving Draco's punishment along with his own, the boy actually managed to earn the witch's precious sympathy, an achievement in itself, and one Harry hadn't intended at the time, that much was certain. Nevertheless, it had happened, and the result that came from it was now causing him unnecessary headaches.

Moreover, Harry was an orphan that had endured many hardships, compared to Draco who, despite being a Death Eater's child, had led a sheltered life for the most part, even though they were both the same age.

And Narcissa was, after all, a mother; a fact that couldn't be overwritten, regardless of her darker nature.

The irony of this out of the blue stalemate wasn't lost on him.

But either way he looked at it, it really mattered not. If Narcissa were to cross that very fine, thin line again, he would retort in the way he knew best…

Strike where she was most vulnerable.

He did hope it wouldn't come down to such measures, because he was being truthful when he said he valued their opinion, but one way or another, the witch would learn her lesson.

And speaking of weaknesses, it would seem the boy had to resort to his counting to fend off his current assailant.

Long, pale fingers touched the chilled surface of the window pane as he tuned inwards to observe this new version of the illusion play out, and his glassy reflection suddenly cracked a feral smile.

"One," the Dark Lord recited, having memorized the intriguing list ever since the moment Harry first came up with it, "for the age he was when he was deprived of a family. Seven…"

***)&(***

'…_For the strongest magical number. It's also the number of the Horcrux in me, and the number on my Quidditch uniform this year.'_

He couldn't bear to pause and mull over the overwhelming taunt that knowledge was stuffed with.

No, no!

He was getting off track.

'_Think, Harry, think!'_ he scolded himself, _'Seven represents one more thing.'_

Yeah, but what was it?!

Frustrated and if only a little terrified he had forgotten something from his list – because he couldn't afford to forget, not when it was so crucial to his sanity – he made the unwitting mistake of lifting his head, gaze locking with the floating, translucent and mangled ghost of Albus Dumbledore.

"Oh," he whispered shakily, a wry little chuckle escaping without his consent, "I remember now."

"At last," the Horcrux commented idly from its corner, "Watching the old coot hover back and forth was beginning to make me dizzy."

Harry shut its voice out, needing to burn into his mind the last thing so he wouldn't forget it a second time. _'Seven's also for the number of people that have lost their lives because or for me.' _

His father and mother.

Cedric.

Sirius.

Dumbledore.

And the newest additions; Remus and Mad-Eye.

He wasn't stupid. No one could have survived from a lethal wound as the one that had been inflicted on Remus, not with Snape on Voldemort's side and no healer amidst the Order. As for Moody, there was simply no chance that the Death Eaters had let him live, especially if the Dark Lord had any say in it.

The notion was abruptly cut in half, the moment he felt the tell-tale signs of stirring. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the floor and he despaired in the realization he had fallen asleep again.

Hefting himself up on quivery hands, he sat up, knowing he had but a few minutes before the illusions started over.

The searing pain he felt just above his wrists told him that it must have been another bite that woke him.

He didn't bother to look down, though.

The last time he did, it was to find the little fang formed holes swollen, dripping with a mixture of thick, purple pus and black blood, matching perfectly with the reddish-black surface of the skin surrounding the marks. It didn't give off that atrocious, putrid scent Wormtail's corpse had been releasing in generous suffocating waves, but it did prevent him from taking a peek at it again.

There was no numbness anymore, no waiting for the pain that the bites inflicted to fade away, it was just always there these days.

The worst, however, wasn't that his arms felt like they were one big wound; it was that they felt like a horribly infected one.

His abdomen churned suddenly, the sensation unpleasant enough to make bile rise to his throat, but he forced it down, ignoring the sour, acidic taste it left behind to the best of his abilities. He didn't know what spell the Dark Lord had placed on him after dumping him in the cellar, but he didn't feel the need for water, or the necessity of a bathroom break, only the hunger existed, so demanding and ravenous that often times it was as though a hole was being punched through his stomach.

The potion they kept feeding him did little to quench that, and the fight he put up took most of his energy out.

One of the Death Eaters, he couldn't really recall who, had said that if it weren't for the potion he'd have died of starvation days ago.

But that didn't make any sense.

He wasn't down here for long, perhaps a couple of days, but he had already gone so far as five days without any food when he had been with his relatives, so Harry resisted, resolute they were trying to trick him so he would drink the damn thing. Not that it did any help. He struggled, and fought, and bit, and did anything he could think of, but only succeeded in making their job easier by tiring himself out.

Even his magic wasn't of any help. No matter how hard he tried, his blasts just wouldn't find their targets. He blamed it on the hunger. It seemed to make everything kind of blurry, or maybe that was the aftereffect of the hallucinations, he didn't know.

What bothered him, though, was how unfailingly weak it appeared to be against his binds.

The tattoos not once reacted.

Only their angular red eyes glinted, like they acknowledged his efforts yet at the same time mocked him for it.

Like everything that had to do with the Dark Lord, it was nothing short of maddening.

And when Hermione materialized out of thin air before him, dangling a glittery dagger in front of his face and bestowing him with a smile crazed enough that only Bellatrix would have been able to pull off, Harry feared that the madness was catching, but most importantly, it was all consuming.

So, he grinned right back, then closed his eyes and returned to counting in his head.

'_Eleven, for the age I was when I discovered I was a wizard, and also when I killed a man with my bare hands.'_

Hermione raged above him, screeching for him to look at her and pay attention. Her frustration only grew when he didn't do as she demanded, and he felt the first nicks of the dagger's sharp tip on his cheek, knowing there would be nothing there if he decided to check, but having a hard time convincing himself.

Still, Harry remained insistent on his strategy, continuing with the list.

'_Twenty two, for all the magical creatures I met; phoenix, unicorns, dragons, centaurs, werewolves, house elves, goblins, hippogriffs, thestrals, pixies, acromantulas, pegasi, inferi, grindylows, red caps…'_

His thoughts came to a staggering halt, for a moment listening to the quietness around him, before he shook himself, determined to finish. _'Come on, there's not much left, count them, Harry. Where was I, again? Right; red caps, uh, blast-ended-skrewts, trolls, giants, merpeople, gnomes, hinky-punks, dementors.'_

It was only when he reopened his eyes, taking in the temporarily but blissfully empty room, that he realized he had skipped one in his hurry.

He laughed hollowly, head falling to rest back against the column.

Stupid, really, considering it was the easiest of them all.

"Sixteen," he mumbled softly to himself, "for the age when my entire life came crushing down."

***)&(***

He had known that everything would just go downhill from there, but once it finally happened, it turned out he really wasn't as prepared as he'd have liked.

The sequence was logical, he had gathered that much; the longer he stayed down there, the fiercer his fears became, changing constantly for the worst.

At first, the hallucinations had started out simple enough.

He had been worried about Remus and Mad-Eye, his owl as well. So, the illusions shifted into the most horrible fate that could have befallen them.

After Voldemort's visit, however, his mind must have unconsciously interpreted the man's words in a way that Harry had definitely not been aware of, at least until his friends had appeared, expressions full of distaste and mouths spilling horrible things.

"_I suppose you really weren't of much use, were you now?" Ron sneered, head cocking to the side, "All that talk about the Chosen One. Should have known it was all rubbish."_

_Hermione sidled up beside him, eyes cold, "We should have turned down Dumbledore's offer. All the gold in the world wasn't worth befriending a fool like you."_

_Ron grunted his agreement. "A heap of trouble; that's all you are. Nearly cost us our lives, you did."_

It was his first vision of them, and no matter how much he pleaded, they didn't listen, didn't stop, and their words cut deep, to the point it served as the origins of his makeshift list. After that, as the illusions changed to accommodate his newfound fear of his friends actually hating him, most of their attacks turned from verbal to physical.

He lost count of how many different methods they used. It could never go too far, because for some strange reason, the hallucination would dissolve.

Once, Mr. Weasley had tried to strangle him, screaming about how he had left his beloved daughter to rot in the Chamber, sacrificed her young, innocent soul so that Tom Riddle's would be reborn.

The man had flickered out of existence the instant his fingers made to apply pressure around Harry's neck.

Encounters like those still left Harry winded, helpless to struggle with the aftermath they left behind and clueless as to which tear to mend first.

But as he stared at the scene unfolding before his very eyes, he realized with terror that things had barely just started to escalate.

A little while ago, Fred and George had appeared, identical gleams in their eyes. They approached with an intent that Harry had seen many times before, in nearly all the visions he had had up until then; a vengeful, murderous one that had Harry instinctively backing into the wall, especially when they trained their wands on him.

No sooner had their lips parted, another figure emerged out of nowhere, and that's how Harry found himself in the unprecedented predicament of staring with his jaw slack as he himself marched over to the duo, cloak, gloves and all.

Not quite like looking into a mirror, Harry didn't know how to name this feeling, only that it was highly unnerving.

What happened next, however, had him choking on his own inhaled breath.

Fake Harry lifted a wand of his own, casting the _Imperius Curse _before Fake Fred and George even had the chance to turn. The results were immediate, eyes clouding over and faces growing serene…right before they contorted with raw hatred and they turned on each other.

Blind to anyone but themselves, they threw their wands aside and promptly shifted to physical blows, attacking one another with punches and kicks that apparently weren't nearly enough to quench the particular thirst that seemed to drive them, because the next second, they bared their teeth and bit every visible patch of skin they could reach.

Nails scrapped, fingers clawed, teeth embedded in flesh, and soon, it was all Harry could do to forcibly keep from vomiting.

Blood started spurting from freshly opened wounds, a thin trail of red at first, before it turned into a steady stream as bones were revealed and intestines dug out. Fake Harry witnessed all that, ordered it to happen and simply stood and smiled as it did.

The shadows shifted once more, parting like faithful servants to make way for the Dark Lord.

In honor perhaps of his title, or because it was intentional so that they'd make quite the striking pair, he was dressed in an attire very similar to Harry's illusion version; a coal-black cloak was draped over his form, fastened at the waist by a single, silver belt of leather and then remaining open all the way down to his ankles. A black shirt of a fine, silky material hugged his chest, while black pants and boots adorned his legs and feet.

Silver bands peeked just under the sleeves of his cloak, clicking distinctly as he moved. Coming to stand beside Fake Harry, he lifted a hand, lean fingers reaching out to elegantly trace a pale cheekbone, slowly making their path downwards, favoring those dark red lips with the same treatment.

Droplets of blood must have landed on his face, because when Fake Voldemort's fingers withdrew, they were covered in it.

The man gazed at them for a moment, head ever so slightly tilting to the side and consequently causing his left eye to be partially hidden behind a veil of dark hair. Undeterred by the substance, he brought his hand close to his mouth, tongue emerging to leisurely lick at the pad of his thumb.

Fake Harry grinned, lips parting to obediently suck at a blood stained forefinger when it was presented to him, eyelids fluttering close in unvoiced pleasure.

Harry's hand lowered from where he had it firmly fastened over his mouth, nausea long forgotten.

Liquid wetness trailed down his cheek once he blinked, and as though it had served its purpose, the illusion faded out, leaving only the newest set of scars as a reminder.

He shut his eyes, fully welcoming the sting of tears behind the closed lids.

The scariest thing was…he knew he was capable of something like that. He had already performed such acts on Voldemort's Death Eaters.

Would it change if it was his friends at the receiving end? Would it stop him?

He didn't…

A sob, unbidden and agonized, rose from his throat.

…He didn't know. Not anymore.

And that went to show exactly how messed up he had become. It was the truth, nonetheless. He didn't feel like himself anymore. Rather, it felt more like he had become the enemy.

Perhaps not yet, but he was slowly getting to it.

He just hoped that by the time this was over, there would still be enough of him left to recognize the person in the mirror.

***)&(***

When he next opened his eyes, it was to the low chuckles of the Horcrux. "Finally decided to toss that foolish notion of abstaining from sleep?"

Harry gave a shrug of the shoulders. "It's not like it was of much use, anyway." Green orbs stared dully up at the ceiling. "I just wanted to avoid you, seeing as I've already got plenty of nightmares following me around."

The Horcrux said nothing to that, making the teen glance sideways at it out of curiosity, but as usual, the Horcrux's form was engulfed in shadows, leaving visible only the chains that kept it in place.

A drawn-out sigh passed through Harry's lips. "Well, totally unnecessary commentary aside, I suppose talking to someone other than myself is better, healthier."

"You flatter me," came the snide remark, and Harry heaved another sigh, but then, the next round of hallucinations started up and he was saved from the trouble of having to answer.

This time, his visitor turned out to be Cedric.

A revolted shudder coursed throughout Harry's body at the bloodied and positively shredded figure of the boy.

Maybe it sounded selfish and downright cold, but Harry suddenly felt glad for Cedric's quick death. Compared to all other forms of torture that Voldemort could have employed if he had chosen to keep the older teen as entertainment for after being resurrected, the _Killing Curse _was, admittedly, a merciful way to go.

Cedric made no move to approach, content to merely observe Harry from afar.

Enduring the scrutiny wasn't the problem; it was ignoring the wheezing little laughs that the other would occasionally let out.

"What?" Harry finally snapped.

Cedric flashed a small, rueful smile, "Nothing. Just wondering if the fall hurt."

"Wouldn't know," Harry muttered briskly, "I'm still falling."

Unable to hold his own weight any longer, Cedric's legs failed him, sending him to the floor. He grasped his bruised side, where the broken ribs could be spotted through the ripped white shirt, and bit down on his lip to withhold a wince.

"You're dead." It was needless, he knew, but still felt like he ought to point it out.

Cedric grinned humorlessly, split lips cracking once they were pulled. "And you're as good as."

Harry's attention drifted back to the ceiling, not nearly bothered enough by the prospect.

"So, then," Cedric paused, eyes searching Harry's face, "why do you still fight?"

"Cause if I don't, I'm going to break."

Icy fingers cradled his cheek, and Harry started, green eyes jerking down to lock with grey. Cedric's expression was forlorn, "And is that so bad?"

Harry let the words wash over him, allowing them to root deep. "Bad, eh?" he repeated softly, "No, I suppose not, but it'd be like taking the easy route."

As though struck, Cedric recoiled, and his face twisted into a look as vile as the wounds he carried. He stood up mutely, walking away with a grace that had been absent from his body only a little while ago. "You are a fool, Harry Potter." he said, and Harry felt his entire frame grow stiff, for when he whipped around, Cedric's features had morphed into Voldemort's.

The Dark Lord's dark lips curved into a terrible, devastating smile, "And you will lose…everything."

Harry grasped his head with both hands, letting his forehead fall between his drawn-up knees, and simply screamed; long and hard, until his voice grew hoarse and his lungs had no more air left in them for fuel.

Next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake almost violently.

Somewhere between trapped in his nightmare still, and his drowsy mind, Harry only acted on instinct when he sent a blast of raw magic in the direction of the person manhandling him. Like usual, he expected to have his magic rebounded, as it seemed to happen around the Inner Circle nowadays, so when his ears caught the distant sound of something heavy colliding with the wall, his eyes flew open.

Clarity quickly returning to his senses, Harry scrambled into a sitting position, watching confusedly as his former classmate clutched his shoulder.

"Are you nuts?!" Malfoy yelled, grimacing upon accidentally pressing down too hard with his fingers. "What the hell was that for?"

Harry blinked, disoriented. "Are you an illusion?"

He didn't know if magic was supposed to affect the hallucinations, considering he had never tried to hurt one of them before.

Comprehension dawned on Malfoy's face, and he shook his head. "I'm the real thing." He hauled himself up with a grunt, tentatively rolling his right shoulder and promptly cringing. "Had you aimed a little more to the left, you'd have dislocated my arm."

Harry ignored the accusing tone. "Good thing I was asleep then and didn't have time to focus properly."

Silver eyes narrowed into a petulant glare.

"Why are you here?" His gaze swept over the place for a second, counting down in his head the remaining time he had left before the next illusion sprung up on him, and taking into account the nature of all of its predecessors, he really didn't want to have an audience when it did show up.

Malfoy waved something in front of him, the torches' light glinting off a glassy surface and suddenly Harry understood.

"They sent you to give me my next dose?"

The blond nodded, uncorking the vial as he approached. "Half of the Circle's off to training and the other half's preparing for the Dark Lord's impeding visit to France."

…France?

Most likely catching sight of his flabbergasted look, the other boy gestured airily with his hand. "The Dark Lord's got a meeting with the French Minister, and since he doesn't allow house elves down here, he had me bring the potion."

The stone wall on the far end of the cellar exploded abruptly, leaving a medium sized hole on its surface and nearly causing Malfoy to jump out of his skin.

"What in Merlin's nam-?"

So, Voldemort was so bloody busy that he couldn't even bring the stupid potion himself. Of course not; as if the Dark Lord would ever do such a lowly, demeaning task.

"Uh, Potter?"

And why should it matter that the last time Voldemort himself came was when he was given his first potion?

Harry's hands fisted by his sides, the crack that formed on the floor before him going entirely unnoticed.

The blond, on the other hand, eyed it warily.

Here he was, gradually losing his mind, his very self, and Voldemort was – where exactly?

Shit!

…What was he saying…?

"What have you done to me, you damn bastard?" he muttered through clenched teeth, hands slowly loosening.

"Excuse me?"

Head jolting upwards, Harry couldn't fail but imitate the frown Malfoy was giving him. "Nothing," he said dismissively, furious with himself.

Malfoy cried out, face draining of all color as he gripped his arm.

Having seen that particular gesture one too many times, Harry went to ask if he was alright, but before he could utter a single sound, Malfoy had already rushed forwards and emptied the contents of the vial down Harry's throat, slamming a hand over both his nose and mouth until the raven haired teen had no other option than to swallow.

Which he did, and a millisecond later, the blond was off and dashing up the stairs in a flurry of motion.

Coughing briefly, Harry glared uselessly at the empty staircase, perplexed and more than a little annoyed. He could already sense the potion's effects, though; the cramping pain in his abdomen was ever so slowly beginning to ebb away.

Relishing in the lack of pain while it lasted, Harry lay down on his side, careful to keep his arms in an outstretched position so that they wouldn't be crushed under his body.

He felt so tired all the time, hence, it really didn't come as a surprise when he was asleep within seconds.

***)&(***

He was prepared this time, awakened by the sound of pounding footsteps long before someone attempted to wake him themselves.

"Don't touch me," he hissed annoyed, slapping away the offending appendage before it landed on his shoulder. Huffing heavily, Harry pushed himself up, deliberately ignoring the strain it took for something so simple. "You people are persistent. I already took the damn potion, leave me alone."

He was just about ready to lie down again – he had only barely got a wink of sleep before Ginny's screams had him bolting upright, watching helplessly as her body was slowly devoured by a Basilisk, unable to assist her in any way possible – when he caught sight of his visitor for the first time.

Narcissa Malfoy was kneeling on the floor beside him, looking disheveled and with her breathing labored.

Had she run all the way down?

Still panting, she raised an arm, wand tip centering above the spot the cord-like chains connected with the stone pillar, and non-verbally, she cast spell after spell, bright red and violet jets repeatedly slamming into that one spot. Debris and thick, stone fragments rained down, and Harry stared wide-eyed as sweat gathered on the witch's forehead.

The teen gasped, eyes jerking downwards as the tattoos came to life, sinking their fangs in the flesh of the woman's forearms the instant they had her within their sights.

Other than a faint grimace that was quickly smoothed away, she didn't otherwise react. Never relenting, she even increased her fire power, more colorful beams adding up, until the area around the sheathed shackles started to thin, pieces of the column breaking apart in bigger quantities.

Then, the place they were holding onto having been carved out from underneath, the shackles came free, turning back into shiny tails and once the snakes released the witch's arms, both upper and lower parts slowly shrank before returning to being shadowy markings on the boy's skin.

Harry's mouth opened and closed a couple of times, some part of him still in shock. Green orbs shifted over to Mrs. Malfoy's heaving form, not really knowing what to say.

Did that mean Voldemort had decided to end his punishment?

"Potter," the woman rasped, inhaling greedily, "my son…"

The last part came as nothing more than a mere whisper, and Harry frowned, not quite catching it, "What?"

"My son," she repeated, voice beginning to regain its strength, "The Dark Lord is torturing Draco."

Harry froze, dreadful realization turning his blood to ice. "You shouldn't have come here…" he whispered quietly, before his own words caught up to him and his pulse burst into a frenzied tempo, "Do you know what you just did? He'll hurt us all! You, me, everyone!"

Tremors enveloped him whole, terrified at the prospect of Voldemort's wrath.

He wouldn't survive another punishment like this one!

"No!" he shouted, and spikes erupted from the very ground, deadly and sharp, that had the witch scurrying to the side to avoid being nailed on the spot.

Harry took no notice of them, mind far away, knowing it was only a matter of time before Voldemort found out, "No more." he choked out, nails scrapping harshly against the floor in a furtive attempt to bury in his fingers, unconsciously searching for some sort of confirmation that he wasn't dead already and rotting in some torture chamber of hell's.

"Potter!"

His shoulders were roughly grabbed and shaken, and amidst the wave of nausea that surged through his upset stomach, Harry could feel himself coming back to focus.

He blinked dazedly at her, the witch withdrawing her hands after making certain she had his full attention. "I need your help." she said gravely, sounding just as desperate as she looked, "He started torturing Draco without even telling us why. Please, Potter."

He knew, deep down, that for her to even consider uttering that word to him, the situation must have really been dire, but as it was, he couldn't even summon enough sympathy for her at the moment.

"I can't help your son."

Mrs. Malfoy paused, brows furrowing together slowly, disbelievingly. "Potter," she said his name as though speaking to a mentally disturbed person, putting emphasis so he'd understand her, "he's had him under the Cruciatus for nearly ten minutes now."

Ten…?

Ten minutes?

If he was subjected to it for much more, Malfoy would surely…

Harry didn't even allow himself to finish that thought. Still, it didn't change anything. "I can't help him." he repeated softly, looking away from her and towards the onyx spike protruding from the ground only a little ways off.

…The what?

The teen stared incomprehensively at it. When did that get there?

"I know you can," Mrs. Malfoy insisted, "The Dark Lord listens to you." She halted for a moment, probably realizing how absurd that had sounded, but she quickly shook herself, picking up where she left off, "Look, if it's about your body, I have something that should help."

And she fished out a small vial from the folds of her cloak, holding it in front of her.

Harry spared it a single glance, from the color alone recognizing it as a Pepper-Up. Unfortunately, his uncooperative body hadn't even crossed his mind when he refused.

"Please, leave." he muttered resignedly, lowering himself to the floor and lying with his back to her.

"Potter?" Mrs. Malfoy questioned uncertainly, voice trembling ever so lightly.

Then, there was only silence.

Such absolute stillness, that Harry thought the woman had actually left without him noticing, right before he felt fingers lightly stroking his hair, making him tense.

"I understand," The touch was gentle, feather light, "I apologize for my presumption, and I shall take full responsibility for my releasing you without his permission." He heard a clicking sound against the tiled floor, and Mrs. Malfoy rose to her feet, leaving almost inaudibly.

Harry's hands tightened under his kneecaps, bringing his legs higher and curling in to himself, aware that if he were to turn, he'd find the vial sitting innocently there. He wished he could stay like this, pretend that nothing had happened.

But it had, hadn't it?

Why did they always expect so much from him?

First it was Dumbledore and the world, then Voldemort, and now his Death Eaters.

"Leave me alone." he mumbled to himself.

"But you're alone," a voice, he didn't know whose, only that it was familiar, breathed into his ear, and Harry was crestfallen at the illusions' return, even more so when more voices whispered into the air above him, "All alone."

Someone laughed mirthfully, "So alone."

"Poor thing," another muttered, followed by a giggle.

They must have liked that, because they all joined in, chanting 'poor thing' over and over again, getting louder by the moment, until Harry finally couldn't take it and covered his ears, screaming his numbers loud enough to overshadow the voices, anything to shut them out.

What was probably only a couple of seconds, felt like an eternity to Harry before they disappeared, leaving him so unbelievably drained, physically and mentally.

Especially the last one.

Stifling a grunt, Harry maneuvered himself around, lifting a quivery hand to grasp the small bottle and bring it closer. He jostled the contents, watching the liquid swirl lazily about.

What was the point? He was probably already late, anyway.

The feel of Mrs. Malfoy's fingers flashed through his mind, and he realized he didn't know what to make of it.

Had it been kindness that drove the woman to do it? Pity for his sake, and the way he must have looked? Or was it nothing but a last attempt at manipulation, hoping he'd take the bait? As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, in the end he really leaned more towards the last bit.

Not that he blamed her, if that truly was the case.

Narcissa Malfoy not only belonged to the Inner Circle, but she was also a mother, and if her only son was in danger, he didn't doubt she'd be desperate enough to try anything; begging or petting the enemy included.

But as he downed the entire contents, he didn't think of her.

Rather, it was Malfoy that came to mind, his snobbish classmate that preached blood purity and didn't hesitate to humiliate Harry at any chance he got.

Malfoy, who had tried to help when he saw the pain Harry was in and ended up getting hurt in return. Malfoy, who was the first person to make some sort of conversation when he brought Harry his potion, something that none of the others would ever do if it meant violating their master's orders.

What the heck did Malfoy do anyway, for Voldemort to get so angry?

Acting as a tonic, the potion was always quick with its results, and Harry could sense his depleted energy slinking back inside his body, rekindling long slumbering muscles and getting his blood to pump faster.

Maybe it was because the newfound wakefulness was forced, and not by natural causes like a good, peaceful night's rest, but Harry felt more exhausted than before.

Well, at least his limbs got to unwind, so he supposed that counted for something.

His legs were unsteady when he hauled himself up, but nowhere near the wreck they'd have been without the potion.

Actually, he doubted he could have stood at all if it wasn't for the Pepper-Up.

After the first couple of steps didn't end up with him sprawled on the floor, he carefully sidestepped the sharp spikes only to nearly fall right on top of one when Voldemort appeared across him. He recognized him as the illusion from before, his black cloaked arms folded over his chest and expression unreadable.

This fear didn't need to speak for Harry to understand what it represented.

So, the teen merely sidestepped him like he did those death traps.

He reached the steps at the exact moment that Fake Voldemort materialized in the middle of the staircase. Harry didn't bat an eye as he climbed it, looking at the man only chastely in passing. His face hadn't changed.

Finally making it all the way to the top, Harry couldn't suppress a sigh from slipping out.

"I know." He glanced over his shoulder, managing a small smile when he met those red pools, "I'm a fool, right?" And knowing he wouldn't receive a response, Harry waved in goodbye, walking away, "See you in a few, Tom."

Behind him, the illusion's lips twisted into a half-smile, right before it vanished into nothingness.

_**TBC**_

**A/N: **Well, I don't know what you think, but I rather enjoyed writing this chapter, and I wanted it to end on a slightly more cheery note than the previous one.

Also, do you think I should change the **rating** to **M **just to be safe? The last two chapters turned out pretty graphic.


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